


Dandelions

by GingerGinny



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Age Difference, AmeCan, Caname - Freeform, College student Canada, Dad America, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 20:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 55,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6344563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerGinny/pseuds/GingerGinny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a thirty year old with no college degree and an eleven year old daughter, Alfred Jones has no time or need for romance. All that's been important to him for the past decade was his daughter; keeping a roof over her head and food on the table. But, when the older brother of his daughter's best friend starts popping up more and more, Alfred can't help but think about what he's missed out on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really loved the AU idea of dad!America and his daughter that ciralili on Tumblr mentioned, and decided to write something for it! The world needs more of middle aged Alfred, honestly. 
> 
> Also, sorry for awkward spacing. I'd blame google docs but It's probably just human error on my part.

Alfred loved his daughter. He loved her more than anything, and he didn’t blame her in the slightest for the way his life had gone. How could he? It wasn’t her fault she’d been born or made. He loved her, and not a single person on this planet could tell him otherwise, especially not-

 

“I do genuinely believe people should wait until they're in a stable situation to have children,” Alice said, her voice grating. “You wouldn’t believe the kind of parents I have come through my class. Or their children.”

 

She had the nerve to chuckle and Alfred felt like putting his fork through his thigh. Taking ‘subtle’ shots at him was fine; taking them at his daughter wasn’t. 

 

“So, Alfred, can I ask you something?” 

 

“I guess, Ms. Kirkland.” Alfred replied. He was hoping she’d take the hint; the one she clearly missed as she set her spoon down. 

 

“Please, call me Alice,” 

 

_ No. _

 

“We are on a date, after all.”

 

_ A date an eleven-year-old set up.  _

 

“I was wondering, have you ever considered a prep school for little Madeline? Your daughter is incredibly smart and I’m sure in the right environment, she could truly flourish. Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but the girl has an amazing knack for science, imagine what could happen if she got to study it in an academic setting!” 

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

Alice smiled, and reached for her wine. Across the table Alfred nodded his head, wondering which excuse he could use to run out of the restaurant and leave her here.

 

He didn’t want to be here. He could think of a whole list of things he’d rather be doing, like cleaning a toilet a million miles away. But his daughter, his adorable little daughter with her damn puppy eyes, had convinced him this was a better way to spend his Friday night.

 

A dinner date with her teacher. The teacher currently taking quite a few digs at him and assuming he didn’t notice.  

 

“I’ve always wanted children myself, but I wanted a career as well. Wanted to go to college, to make something out of myself. Considering how she was raised, it’s amazing how well you’ve done with her.” 

 

Alfred set his water down and hoped Alice hadn’t noticed his eye twitch. “Considering? What do you mean, considering?” 

 

“What with you being a single parent and all. Most girls raised by only one parent seem to be a bit more… well goodness, I can’t think of the right term. Frivolous, perhaps? It all depends on the women she looks up to. Lacking a mother figure can really-”

 

“No. No, we’re done here.” Alfred said, cutting her off. He stood up, the glassware on the table clinking as he bumped it. 

 

“Excuse me?” Alice remarked, feigning shock. “Have I done something wrong?” 

 

“You mean besides taking up an hour of my life and insulting me?” He answered. Alfred refused to look at her as he pulled a handful of bills out of his wallet. “Nah, you haven’t done anything wrong at all Ms. Kirkland.” 

 

Grabbing his coat, Alfred pushed in chair in politely.  

 

“I’ve worked hard to be the father Madeline deserves. Have I messed up a few times? Yeah, but I’ve given up a lot to be both parents for her, and there’s not a chance in hell I’d let you get it into her head that I regret it.” He said with a scathing look as he dropped the money next to his plate. “Don’t you dare take this out on her in school.”  

* * *

 

 

His microwaved hot pocket tasted like trash. How had he survived on these things in his twenties? 

 

Sitting alone at the kitchen table, Alfred studied the papers laid out before him. Multicolored spread sheets and rows of numbers stared back, complicated numbers that need crunching blurred in front of his eyes.  He was managing other people’s incomes and expenses for a quarter of the profit, slowly losing not only control of his tabletop but his eyesight.

 

The ‘R’s on the pages in front of him were morphing into ‘B’s. Dropping his now empty hot pocket wrapper, Alfred grabbed one of the papers and held it less than an inch away from his face. Then further away at arm's length, taking off his glasses and squinting. He was too young for this shit, losing his eyesight? Already? 

 

_ “Get eyes checked,”  _ Alfred scrawled on a loose sticky-note.  _ “Again.” _

 

Alfred’s eyes watered from staring down at the tiny print to staring at his laptop’s unruly bright screen. Numbers, numbers, more numbers and the sound of his back cracking when he stretched. When the doorbell rang, he hardly registered it. It seemed a thousand miles away from the paperwork and blue screen in front of him, something in a whole other world.

 

“Oh, crap- Hang on!” Alfred shouted, shoveling some of his papers aside so there was table space. 

 

He pushed away from the table and rushed to the front door, swinging it open. “Hey, sweetheart!” 

 

“Hi, dad!” Madeline said, running into his open arms. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, one of her long braids hitting him in the face. “Sorry!”

 

“How was your movie, you guys?” Alfred asked. He stood up and tried to hide his back pain by leaning against the door frame.

 

The two little girls on the porch in front of him smiled. Madeline, with her pale blonde braids and red glasses, and her dress thankfully stain-free. Amelia next to her, a tie-dyed pink shirt marked with a smeared junior mint and a nacho cheese stain. Despite the differences in clothing and hair, the two were nearly identical otherwise. They had the same big eyes and light freckled faces.

 

“It was great, Mr. Jones!” Amelia beamed up at him, her arm linked tightly with Madeline’s. “Thanks for letting Maddie come with us!” 

 

Alfred looked at the person standing behind the girls, the one with his hands shoved into his hoodie pocket. Alfred couldn’t recognize the young man, not even after he smiled nervously and waved. 

 

“Hey, dad? Could I show Amelia my new books?” Madeline asked, tugging at Alfred’s sleeve. “Dad?” 

 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, of course sweetie. Just don’t touch the stuff on the kitchen table!” Alfred said as the girls rushed by him, racing each other up the stairs. A steady stream of giggles and little girl chatter, and Alfred waited until he heard Madeline’s bedroom door slam shut, not missing a beat before he turned towards the man. 

 

“Who are you?” He asked, trying to hide the edge of caution in his voice.

 

The man blinked and looked a bit flustered before answering. “I’m Matthew, sir. Amy’s older brother?”

 

Alfred stared. 

 

“We met at their school choir concert? I was the one who showed up a bit late and had to come in through the side door?”

 

“Oh, right. Right, yeah, I remember you.” Alfred said, a vague memory in his head. He could remember Matthew standing behind Amelia’s parents as they waited for the concert to finish. He’d been wearing the same blue sweatshirt for Canopia College.“Where are your parents? I thought they were supposed to be dropping Madeline off.” 

 

“It was originally, but they wanted to go grocery shopping and didn’t want to keep the kids up too late. I drove separately so I offered to bring them by. I’m sorry, we probably should have called you first.” 

 

Alfred noticed the slight shiver Matthew tried to hide, and reopened the front door. Light poured out onto the porch and revealed the girl’s shoes left in the middle of the hallway, with one lone converse dangling on the bottom stair step. “Uh, here, you can come inside if you want while the girls talk.” 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

Matthew stepped inside, Alfred shutting the door behind him. The first thing that caught Matthew’s attention was the walls. Each one had a different picture on it, children’s drawings with bright colors and photos with cheap frames and red time stamps in the corners. There was a homemade key holder hanging next to the door, purple Popsicle sticks with ‘Happy Father’s Day!’ In glitter writing.

 

Various pairs of little girl’s shoes were littered around, from tennis shoes to Mary-Janes. They were clustered near one pair of worn looking adult sneakers, dirty and held together with glue. Matthew was trying not to stare too obnoxiously as he stood there and wondered if he should take his shoes off too. 

 

“You have a lovely home, Mr. Jones.” Matthew said quietly to the now empty hallway. He followed shortly in Alfred’s footsteps from the porch to the kitchen, studying the interior of Alfred’s home as he went. Everything was some light shade of pink or purple, floral print over a backdrop of boring brown. 

 

It was like a little girl had bounced into a bachelor pad and brought the entire section of a Target furniture section with her.

 

“Thanks. Coffee?” 

 

“No, thank you though.” Matthew paused to watch Alfred stretch to grab the coffee tin out of a kitchen cupboard, his shirt riding up. “Madeline is quite the artist, I see.” 

 

“The girl loves to draw, I want to encourage her.” He replied. He got the coffee going and turned to face Matthew, leaning against a counter. “She told me she wants to be a fashion designer. Or, that’s what she said she wanted to be around last Christmas. She’s got my science brain too though, so I never know if it’s fashion designer one day or brain surgeon the next.”

 

Matthew took a quick glance at the kitchen table. One chair was pulled out, piles of paperwork and notes scattered around a laptop. Something that seemed off to him off though; a plastic pink vase full of daisies. It had a clearly pre-written message on it, ‘Happy Mother’s Day!”, that had been scribbled out with marker and replaced with Father’s day. 

 

Cute; in a rushed way. 

  
  


_ “So, will Madeline be at the mother-daughter tea too, Amy?” _

 

_ “Noooo, Matthew. Maddie doesn’t have a mom, dummy.” _

  
  


“Seems like the girls are taking their sweet time up there.” Alfred said, grabbing his coffee creamer and looking over his shoulder at Matthew. “Anyways, Matthew, what do you do?”

 

“Me?” Matthew asked, his voice breaking, Alfred trying hard not to laugh. “I’m a writer! Well college student, but also a writer.”

 

“Yeah? Anything I might have read?” Alfred asked, pulling out a mismatched mug. “Canopia College, right?”

 

“Probably not. I’ve only ever published one book, it wasn’t that good.” 

 

Narrowly avoiding burning his lip on his coffee, Alfred smiled. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, kid. You’re what, twenty-five? What was the book called? Maybe I’ve heard of it!” 

 

“Twenty-two, actually.” Matthew said, feeling his cheeks warm. “It was called ‘The Process of Dandelions.’”  

 

Alfred nodded, because Matthew was right. He’d never heard of the book. Plus, the kid was younger than he’d guessed. 

 

“Did you go to Canopia too?” He wished he hadn’t asked seconds after it came out of his mouth.

 

“I was planning on it but… no.” Alfred looked down into his coffee. “I didn’t get around to it.”

 

Matthew couldn’t help but look everywhere except for Alfred. Maybe it was his eyes or the way he held himself, but Matthew couldn’t look at Alfred and just see some old dad. This guy looked like he could more than easily pass as a student in Matthew’s college class.

 

“Matthew?” Came a shout from the other room. They both jolted, and Alfred raised an eyebrow. 

 

Amelia had come bounding down the stairs like a bull in a china shop, Madeline tip-toeing gently behind her. The two were waiting for Alfred and Matthew as Amelia struggled to get her shoes on without lacing them, trying to jam her foot into the pink shoe and failing.

 

Sneaking up next to her dad, Madeline snuck her hand into his.  “Can Amelia and I go to the park tomorrow, dad?” 

 

“Well, that’s up to her parents.” Alfred said. He ruffled her hair and looked at Matthew. “But if they say yes then I’m sure we could!” 

 

Matthew shoved a hand into his pocket and smiled back. 

 

“Cool!” Amelia replied for Madeline, having stood up to dance around Matthew’s legs as he opened the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Maddie!” 

 

With that, she dashed out the door into the night, making a beeline for the car door. 

 

“Amy, wait!” Madeline shouted, slipping away after her. “Your hair tie!” 

 

Lurking behind on the porch, Alfred looked over at Matthew and gave him a pat on the back. “It was good to meet you, Matthew. See you tomorrow then?”

 

The blond nodded. “Sure thing, Mr. Jones.” 

 

“Uh, just Alfred. I only turned thirty this year.”  

 

The sound of two giggling girls broke them apart, and they looked at Matthew’s car. Amelia was sitting in the front seat with her hands on the wheel, pretending to drive while Madeline laughed in the passenger side seat. 

 

“They don’t have the-” Alfred started concerning.

 

“Right here, don’t worry.” Matthew finished, pulling his keys out of his pocket. They jangled in his hand as Amelia yelled from the car, and Alfred smirked.

* * *

 

Matthew lay awake in his dorm room, staring at the ceiling. The familiar smell of weed drifted around, mainly filtering in from the hallway.

 

_ Nineteen.  _ Alfred had only been nineteen when Madeline had been born. That was four years younger than Matthew was now, four years he’d spent in college so far. 

 

There hadn’t been one single sign of her mom in that whole house either. It was all Madeline, Alfred, and homely decor. 

 

“Hey, Gil, question.” Matthew asked, turning on his side. 

 

“Yeah, bro?” Gilbert replied, not looking away from his video game. 

 

“What would you do if you had a kid?” Matthew said. Gilbert didn’t pause, but the telltale sound of a Game Over came out of the TV.   __

 

“What?” He replied, eyes blinking away from the screen to Matthew. “Did you knock a girl up or something? I thought you were gay as shit, dude.”

 

Matthew snorted and rolled onto his back. “I didn’t get anyone pregnant. But I’m just asking, if you got someone pregnant and you got the kid, what would you do?” 

 

A moment of silence, and Matthew heard Gilbert’s game start again. “I don’t know. I mean, I’d say I’d keep it but I honestly don’t know. What kind of circumstances are there?”

 

Matthew was quiet. “I don’t know the circumstances.” 

 

“This sounds a bit too real, do you know something?” Gilbert asked.

 

“Nope, just curious. Book stuff, you know.”

 

* * *

 

“So, daddy, how did your date go?” Madeline asked, sitting on the edge of her bed. Behind her Alfred braided her hair, hair tie in his mouth. “Wasn’t she pretty?”

 

Dressed in one of her dad’s old T-shirts, all Madeline got in response was a muffled sound. The shirt was some old science fair shirt, once a bright green but now a dull spring color. It hung to her knees and the logo for the 23rd annual High School Elite Physics Scholarship went from her chest to her stomach. 

 

“She was extraordinary, Madeline, but it just didn’t work out with her.” Alfred said gently, tying off her braid. “You can stop setting me up on dates, Buggie-boo.” 

 

She turned to face him, clutching her old stuffed bunny rabbit to her chest. “I love you, dad. I want you to be happy too!” 

 

“I am happy, little bug. C’mon, get into bed now.” He said, scooping her up and flipping her onto the bedspread. “Gotta get your rest for tomorrow.” 

 

He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead as she pulled the blankets up. “Goodnight, little bug.” 

 

“‘Night, daddy.” She mumbled as he started to leave the room, making sure to flick the nightlight on next to her door. “Actually, dad!” 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I hear that Ms. Bonnefoy is getting a divorce!”

 

“N-no, bug. Let’s just leave it alone for a while, okay?”

 

He flicked out the light, leaving himself essentially alone in the dark hallway.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Snow cones were simple things, just crushed ice and brightly colored syrups. Grossly sweet flavors like Cherry and Grape, or Matthew’s personal favorite, Strawberry. A certain shade of syrup that now stained Amelia's lips as she dodged Matthew's attempts to wipe it off.

She’d insisted on blue raspberry and now her lips matched the die in her shirt.

“Just leave it, Mattie, I don’t care!” Amelia whined. She tried to twist away from him and scooted on the park picnic table. “God, you’re so lame!”

“Amelia, you can't run around with blue on your face!” Matthew replied, his knee digging into the dirt beneath the bench. “I told you we should have waited for Madeline, now she'll know that you got a snow cone before her.”

“Oh.” Amelia said with a slight huff. “I’ll just have another when she gets here!”

* * *

 

“Daddy, have you seen my headband?”

The sound of sizzling bacon had long passed in the kitchen as Madeline wandered in for the second time that morning. She looked at the counter where she’d sat not even a half hour ago shoveling scrambled eggs into her mouth; her dad sitting next to her. The TV wedged in the corner of the counter that’d played this morning’s episode of ‘The View’ was now showing a poorly dressed woman pointing out the local weather forecast. Stretching over the counter, Madeline switched it off. The station broadcaster’s voice died instantly and the video was swept away with a click.

“Daddy?” She yelled in the warm, sunlit kitchen.

“Yeah, sweetheart!” Alfred shouted. Moments later came the telltale sound of a grown man barreling down the stairs. “What’s up?”

“I can’t find my headband.”

“Which one, the pink one?” Dressed in an old T-shirt for Reese’s cups and flannel, Alfred kneeled down in front of the girl as she nodded. An automatic response kicked in and he buckled the loose strap on her overalls, the purple flap of fabric clicking under his fingers.

Madeline sighed. “Dad, I can buckle them myself. I’m not two, you know.”

“I know, I know.” Alfred responded. He laughed and planted a kiss on her forehead, ruffling the top of her hair. “Check the laundry room.”

“Right!” She chirped, ducking under his arm dashing out of the room. He heard her yell from the other room: “Did you think about going on a date with Ms.Bonnefoy yet?”  
  
Running a hand through his own hair, Alfred sighed. He yanked his phone off the charger cord and pressed the home button; nothing, thankfully. No calls or emails from his work asking him to come in today or tomorrow, but also nothing from Alice. Somewhere in the back of his head he’d been hoping to wake up to find an apology from her, but he’d settle for just not hearing anything from her at all.

All seemed peaceful.

He didn’t like saying that he lived for quiet mornings, but in a weird way, he did. They were his favorite times, just him and his daughter, some trash TV, and good breakfast. They weren’t rushed by school or work and Alfred could eat all the bacon he wanted without judgement.

When she was younger, their quiet breakfasts would consist of Alfred balancing baby Madeline on his chest while he held a bottle, her little body tucked into his hoodie. It would also have been considerably earlier in the morning, when some channels still aired the Late Show and public broadcasting played weird shit like woodworking shows. Those had always been his favorite things to watch at night- something that lead to his current job.

”It hasn’t really crossed my mind, bug.”

“Oh, but Dad, c’mon!” Madeline said as she skipped back into the room, a large pink bow on her head. “She’s pretty, and single, and older like you.”

“Older?” Alfred said. He tried not to grin when Madeline visibly cringed and let out a weak smile. “Are you saying I’m old?”

He put on his best fake scowl as Madeline tried to visibly retract her statement. “No, no, that’s not what I meant, Dad!”

“Mm-hm. Go get in the car, buggie.”

“I was just implying that you guys were in the same age range, you know. Like not old-”

“There’s that word again.”

Alfred grabbed his keys off the hook and slid his phone into his back pocket. The front door slammed behind him as he watched Madeline hop down the steps, her hair fanning out behind her.

“She’s pretty!”

“Oh, yeah? Are you just saying that to cover up the fact that she’s old as dirt?”

“She’s not that old!” Madeline said, stopping halfway down the stairs.

She let out a squeal as Alfred picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder like she was a bag of wood chips. It’d been much easier to do when she was younger and lighter, Alfred mused, especially when her limbs hadn’t been quite so long and gangly.

“Could an old person do this, huh?”

“Dad!”

Alfred narrowly avoided a pink tennis shoe to the face.

“Trying to set me up on a date with the crypt-keeper now, are you?”

“Dad! Set me down!” Madeline laughed, flailing her way to freedom.

Alfred dropped her at the bottom of the steps, an audible ‘oof!’ sound accompanying it.

“I never said anything about a crypt-keeper, Daddy. Is your back okay?” She asked, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“Yeah, of course my back is okay, sweetie. Why, should I start using a cane?” Alfred suggested, a slight grin on his face. “Complete the old person look?”

Madeline groaned and turned away, walking around the car to hop into the passenger seat.

“Wait, maybe I should get a walker! Yeah, we could add Tennis balls and everything to the bottom of it!”

She sunk down in her seat, knees up against the glovebox.

* * *

 

He had to admit, he’d stayed up later than he’d meant to. He was dead tired and after circling the parking lot to finally only find a place near the exit, he felt the need for coffee. Anything with caffeine really, it didn’t matter.

“Dad! There’s Amelia!” Madeline said, undoing her seatbelt as Alfred yawned. She hopped out and booked it across the grass, yelling. “Amelia! Amy, hey!”

Alfred couldn’t keep up and simply watched as he slowly trudged across the grass, his daughter colliding with her friend up ahead. Next to them stood the awkward older brother in a soft blue shirt, unaware that he was the reason Alfred had gotten no sleep. Alfred had his hands stuffed into his jean pockets, trying to convince himself that acting bitter towards the younger man wouldn’t help.

He’d only written one book, Matthew had said last night. He must’ve thought Alfred was dumb- or that he wouldn’t look up his name and find the others.

The whole park seemed alive with energy, Alfred sucking it out like a tired mess of worn nerves. Colorful stands full of exciting trinkets and delicious snacks, the loud beat of blaring pop music coming from all directions, groups of people laughing like it was the time of their life. All he wanted coffee and the chance to strike up a conversation with Matthew.

When he’d caught up to the other three Alfred noticed something; either he and Madeline had been late, or Amelia and Matthew had showed up early. There was blue all around Amelia’s face and Madeline was laughing at it, but Alfred knew there was no way her parents would let her leave the house looking like that.

“Good morning, Alfred,” Matthew said as the older man drew close, “Glad to see you guys made it.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s great.” Alfred replied. “Hey, you two.”

Madeline and Amelia stopped their pestering momentarily to look up at him.

“Mornin’, Mr. Jones!”

“Ground rules: Stay within sight at all times, no running off. Especially you, Amelia, we’re not having a repeat of last month.” Alfred said, getting a big smile from the blue-ish girl. “You each have a fifteen dollar limit, so spend it wisely.”

“Remember to have fun!” Matthew added, his voice cracking slightly on ‘remember’. He was received with silence and a stifled giggle from his sister.

The poor guy fidgeted nervously and his smile disappeared, kicking down at the grass as his face grew red. Moments later, Alfred and Amelia both let out loud snorts as Madeline giggled.

“Yeah, okay, have fun you guys,” Alfred said as he laughed, “Don’t steal any shit from people. I’m pocket checking you both later.”

Madeline had to support Amelia as they both turned towards the booths, Amelia laughing so hard she could hardly stand. “It was just so freaking awkward!”

Matthew wanted to recoil into himself. He’d wanted to make a good impression on Alfred and Madeline; he’d even gone as far to change out of his sweatshirt and wear a cleaner pair of converse. He certainly didn’t want to give off the idea that he didn’t care.

“That was… awkward, sorry.” He said, crossing his arms and hunching his shoulders. “I don’t babysit a whole lot. Kids; not really my forte.”

Alfred looked at him and tried to give off a friendly smile. It must’ve come off a bit more grouchy than it was meant to if Matthew’s reaction was anything to judge by. He made a mental note to work on his general demeanor at a later time, whenever the chance arose for him to sit in front of a mirror and practice smiling.

The smell of warm sugar wafted through the late morning air, and Alfred instinctively turned towards it. One of the booths had a bright banner- all Alfred noticed was was the glittery sign for soda.

“Hey, Matthew?” He asked, folding his hands behind his neck. “You like soda?”

“Eh? Sure? Shouldn’t we be watching the girls?”

“Don’t worry, they know not to wander off. Plus it’s kinda hard to miss Amelia; that girl has a voice like a siren.” Alfred explained. He dragged his feet slowly and let out a big yawn; Matthew yawning moments later. “I’m so glad Madeline grew out of her loud phase when she was young.”

“Loud phase?” Matthew chuckled. “Any funny stories?”

Alfred snorted, and buried the chance to be a smartass. Last night, well after Madeline had gone to sleep and his workload was significantly reduced, Alfred had googled Matthew’s name. ‘The Process of Dandelions’ had popped up in the first few results, leading him to the book’s Amazon page. He may not have bought it at that moment. but what he found instead had been worth quite a bit.

“Yeah, a few.” Alfred said, getting in line behind a curly haired woman in a Tennessee shirt. “Funnier in hindsight than they were at the time.”

Matthew’s page had five books listed for sale. The Dandelion book was the only one available in print or paperback; the other four only for download. They were around ten bucks a pop and Alfred had splurged on one, curious about the kid’s writing.

“Large Pepsi, please,” He said, pulling a bill out of his wallet, “And whatever he orders.”

Alfred beamed at Matthew as the younger man scanned the menu. “Just a lemonade, thanks.”

Curious was not the word Alfred would use to describe Matthew. Not after finding out that his other books were Harlequin novels, each one short and highly reviewed for their characters. Matthew wrote about steamy romance for a living; something Alfred never would’ve guessed. Even now, watching the blond struggle to rip open the paper around his straw, Alfred almost couldn’t believe it. But hey, he understood better than most people would; You gotta do what you can to make money.

“One time, like right after she’d learned to talk, Madeline went through a loud phase. She’d sit there and scream ‘Daddy!’ like bloody murder from the other room and of course I’d go rushing in there, right?” Alfred started, taking a long sip of his soda. “And there she’d be, perfectly fine, grinning to herself like she was so proud she’d gotten my attention so quickly.”

The ice in Matthew’s cup clinked as he shoved the straw in, focused on Alfred. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah! Funny now, terrifying then.”

“That’s pretty smart actually. Amelia was a quiet baby,” Matthew started as he and Alfred started to mill away from the stand, “I can’t remember her yelling much at all.”

Almost on cue, they heard Amelia’s loud and squeaky laugh. Up ahead she was waving a large bag of pink cotton candy around, trying to bonk Madeline in the head as the smaller girl fussed with her own cotton candy. They were battling with the puffy candy, Amelia clearly winning as Madeline got socked in the face.

“Amelia! Don’t hit Maddie!” Matthew yelled. His voice was quieter than he’d meant for it to come out, but Amelia dropped her bag anyways. “Sorry about that. She doesn’t know her own strength sometimes.”

It was weird, the difference between the brother and sister. Alfred noticed how lively and buoyant Amelia came off, a big fan of impromptu wrestling and climbing on things little girls shouldn’t climb, like statues. The girl was a ball of excitable energy that honed in on his daughter the first day of kindergarten; hardly leaving her side since, like the two were magnets. They’d been mistaken for twins more than once.

Besides him, Matthew lolled next to a stand full of fresh picked flowers. Buckets of Tulips were scattered around their feet. Matthew seemed softer and more delicate than Amelia, a more nervous air around him. It could be easily interpreted as a closed-off and stuck-up air if Matthew didn’t dress like a disgruntled canadian teenager.

“These are so pretty,” Matthew said, his voice trailing off. “Maybe Mom would like a bundle.”

What the hell did Alfred know though, he used to dress in polos and slacks when he was a teen. His soda was watery and he pushed his straw around with his teeth as Matthew picked a thing of flowers up.

“Sorry to bother you, how much does this bundle cost?”

Alfred noticed Madeline’s headband as she and Amelia tried to hide behind a stack of flower buckets. Amelia giggled, and Alfred could see their feet in between the buckets. Tiny eavesdroppers with pink shoes, trying to blend in with the Tulip bulbs.

“Ten dollars. Lovely day out today isn’t it?” The older woman manning the stand said as Matthew pulled his wallet out, “A beautiful day for a family trip.”

“Do you take cards?” Matthew asked with a shy smile. Spying over his shoulder, Alfred noticed that Matthew was a few bills short.

Digging his own wallet out Alfred pulled out a bit of his own cash, sliding it on top of the stack Matthew had set down. It was just the bills left over from his date with Alice, but Alfred didn’t say that when Matthew looked at him.

“You don’t have to do that.” He said softly, pausing in the middle of pulling his debit card out.

“Hey, don’t sweat it, I want to,” Alfred replied, nudging Matthew’s side, “They are really pretty.”

Sitting behind her table in a grey fold out chair, the older lady smiled and took the money. “Y’all are so cute. It’s so refreshing to see a happy couple like you two out today, enjoying the sunshine.”

Matthew stiffened and Alfred narrowly avoided choking on his soda.

“My wife and I run this stand together, it’s heartwarming to see other couples like us. Am I safe to assume that those adorable little munchkins behind my Lavender are your daughters?” The woman went on.

She had dark red hair sprinkled with strands of grey pulled back into a braid, a daisy weaved in. A big smile and rough hands as Matthew took the Tulips from her like it was an automatic response for him. He’d seemed to shut down, quiet as his face flushed a soft pink like the flowers around them.

“Yeah, they belong to us.” Alfred said, soda stuck in his throat. “They, uh, they aren’t meant to be back there. Girls!”

Instead of just getting up and walking inside of the stand, Amelia grabbed Madeline’s hand and the two took off running. Madeline’s hair fanned out behind her as they torpedoed away into the crowded walkway.

Matthew didn’t know what else to do but keep his face hidden and let out a very shaky ‘Thank you’. Not even when he heard Alfred and the woman both laugh, or when Alfred gently tugged him away from the stand so other people could buy flowers.

Alfred’s arm swung over his shoulders and the smell of flowers so strong in his face it stung his nose. It hadn’t occurred to Matthew yet that he should maybe pull his face out of the bundle.

He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t think Alfred was cute. Maybe the word handsome was more appropriate, but they had the same rough meaning. As Alfred let go of Matthew a few feet away from the stand and Matthew felt the flowers pulled away from his face, his heart skipped. Alfred wasn’t even his type.

“Hey, kid, you okay?” Alfred asked with a grin. His face was nowhere near as pink as Matthew’s and Matthew could feel the embarrassment in his chest. “You totally froze up back there.”

“I’m great, sorry.” Matthew said with a gulp. “I just- I didn’t expect her to say that.”

“Me either, honestly. Also, you nearly forgot your lemonade.” The older man said, holding out Matthew’s drink. “That lady was just excited to see people out enjoying the day, don’t overthink it.”

Matthew cradled the flowers in his arm as he took the lemonade, hoping the icey drink would calm him. Alfred had his own soda, but the condensation on the cup didn’t help the sweat on his palms.

“I’m not. A bit funny, considering that I’m not even gay.” Matthew lied through his teeth. He hoped Alfred never met any of his friends.

“Oh, don’t worry, I know.” Alfred said, a smirk across his face. He gave Matthew a side glance while taking a sip of his soda and winked. “I googled you last night.”

Matthew’s stomach wavered somewhere around his knees. He let out a desperate prayer to every God he could think of- please don’t let Alfred have read any of his stories.

“I mean, thank goodness none of your books were titled ‘The Pirate’s Bride’ or some cheesy shit like that.”

He chewed on the end of his straw and felt his gut flip-flop.

“Did- did you read all of them?”

His books weren’t something he advertised to anyone; more of a hidden secret until someone found out. His friends all knew and didn’t give a shit what he wrote about, they were just proud of him. Four dirty books that practically paid his tuition for him and one serious one that hadn’t sold well- the one he’d told Alfred about.

“Hmm? No, just one, ‘Bride Fit For A Prince’. Very, uh,” Alfred said, looking for the right word,”Promiscuous?”

Matthew laughed and felt the weight in him disappear. He disguised the sigh he let out by taking a long drink of lemonade and hoping it covered his heavy breath. “That’s the most popular one, eh.”

“Is it the one you’re most proud of?”

“I guess, yeah. It’s the one that’s sold the most.”

Alfred stopped and sat down on a bench near them, tossing his empty soda into the trash. Matthew looked at him; somehow Alfred managed to look effortlessly comfortable against the wooden bench in the bright morning light.

“No, like, is it the one that you put the most effort into and cared about?” Alfred asked, scooting over so Matthew could sit. The flowers were between them and Alfred yawned, turning so he was facing Matthew. “Like the one you’d be most proud of twenty years from now.”

Staring down at his down dirt caked shoes, Matthew scoffed. He knew exactly which book was the answer to Alfred’s question. He just didn’t want to give Alfred a reason to actually read it.

“Well, actually…” Matthew started before trailing off. A ladybug had flown down and landed on his knee, crawling around. “‘The Process of Dandelions’. That’s the one I’m most proud of.”

“Yeah?” Alfred said. He made a mental note to order it the nearest chance he got. Sure, the other book had been a bit more ‘romantic’ than he was used to reading, but it hadn’t been bad. The reviews had been right. “I’ll read that one next.”

The pit was back in Matthew’s stomach. The book of his that Alfred had read centered around a straight relationship, based around his friend Gilbert and his off and on again girlfriend. He felt honestly ridiculous; Alfred wasn’t going to judge him for being gay or writing gay romances. Hell, maybe it’d make the earlier incident funnier.

“Hey, Alfred, I-”

“Dad!”

Before Matthew could tip Alfred off, Madeline and Amelia burst onto the scene. Amelia’s entire left side was covered in dirt and she had mud on her shoes.

“I fell out of a tree!” She beamed at Matthew, proud of the mess on her clothing. “Can we get lunch?”

“You fell out a tree? Are you okay?” Matthew asked, sitting up.

“I’m great!” Amelia replied. Alfred laughed as Matthew scowled. “I want Mac and Cheese.”

“Amy, you have to be more careful! Didn’t you just have candy?”

“That was like, twenty minutes ago.” She protested, crossing her arms and huffing. Matthew sighed and looked towards Alfred.

Alfred shrugged at him before looking at his own daughter. “You hungry, sweetie?”

A nod, and Alfred got up with a stretch. He reached towards the sun and let out a yawn, rolling back on his heels. “We’re going someplace with coffee, that’s for damn sure.”

“Also I want a soda, cause I saw you guys get soda. And Madeline wants chicken strips.” Amelia said and Madeline nodded again. “Specifically strips, not nuggets.”

“You her official mind reader now?” Alfred asked as Amelia practically attached herself to his side. Even he had noticed by now how much Amelia was like him, becoming somewhat like a second daughter of sorts.

“Yup!”

The two started moving back towards the stands, stopping to wait for Matthew and Madeline next to a hand-knitted hat stand. Alfred quickly shoved a lime green atrocity onto Amelia’s head, a pom-pom hitting her in the nose.

Matthew wiped his eyes. He never should have mentioned that stupid book to Alfred. Not only would he know Matthew lied, but it’d probably be awkward between them. It was hard for him to make friends to begin with.

“Hey, Matthew?” Came Madeline’s soft voice. Matthew looked up at the petite blonde girl.

She rocked back and forth in her shoes, hair blowing in the breeze. Dirt smudges were all over her clothing as well but far less noticeable compared to Amelia’s.

“You have a ladybug on you. Can I hold it?”

“Just make sure to wash your hands before we eat, okay?” Matthew said as the girl smiled. She dropped down and let the Ladybug climb into her palm.

* * *

 

Matthew thought the coffee was too bitter, but Alfred gulped it down with no problem.

Faded pop music played above them in the cheery restaurant along with the general chatter of people around them in other booths, and Matthew picked at his sandwich. He wasn’t that hungry, something about the combo of lemonade and coffee in his stomach turning him off.

“I can’t believe you got that silly hat, Amy.” Madeline said, swirling a chicken strip in ranch dressing. “It’s not very pretty.”

“It doesn’t matter if _it’s_ pretty or not, I’m pretty and that’s all that matters.” Amelia replied through a mouth full of macaroni. She was wearing the green hat that Alfred had pulled onto her head while they waited.

“That’s true.”

Alfred dropped his crumpled napkin on his plate and sat back in the booth. He glanced across the table at Matthew, who was currently picking at his sandwich with a butter knife. He looked good in blue, Alfred thought. It matched his eyes and the silver rim of his glasses, a periwinkle color against Matthew’s pale skin.

“Maybe you should design a hat for me, Maddie! I’d totally wear it!”

“Really? You would?”

“Heck yeah!”

Gee, Matthew’s eyelashes were long.

“Hey, Dad, would you wear a hat I designed?” Madeline asked. Alfred almost wished she hadn’t asked.

Matthew looked up from his sandwich and met Alfred’s eyes. Bright blue and soft purple, Alfred looking away quickly. Matthew reached for his water glass- his mouth suddenly seemed very dry.

“Of course I would, bug.”

* * *

 

Later that evening, Alfred sat in front of his laptop again. The bright screen hurt his eyes and he wanted to take a break from the numbers. He’d tried for a while now to put the other tab open out of his mind, knowing full well what was on the page.

The Amazon page for ‘The Process of Dandelions’ was waiting for him, paperback already selected and added to cart. He re-read the description blurb again:

_‘Eighteen year old Joshua Beddrid has never believed in love. Not after seeing his parent’s divorce up close and personal, and the lingering effects it had on all of them. Until he meets Bailey that is, and is forced to reconsider his own cynical views._ ”

That was probably the most shitty summary Alfred had ever read for a book. He hoped Matthew didn’t write the blurb himself; it made him wary of the actual book. But there it was in his shopping cart regardless, two day shipping already selected and paid for. Moments later a digital receipt for the book popped up and the website thanked him for his purchase.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, sweet pea?”

Madeline walked into the room, her braid hanging swinging behind her. Alfred’s old T-shirt reached her knees and she yawned, her face seemingly smaller without her glasses.

“Did I upset you earlier?”

Alfred looked up from his laptop. He pushed his glasses up and stared at her. “What? Sweetie, what are you talking about?”

“It’s just,” She started, kneading the bottom of the shirt nervously, “You only ever call me ‘bug’ when you don’t wanna talk about something. And when we were at the restaurant, you called me ‘bug’ when I asked if you’d wear something I’d design.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Alfred said, his voice dropping as he stood up and crossed the room to her, “I didn’t mean it like that. I’d love to wear anything you design, even if it’s bright pink and frilly, okay?”

Madeline smiled. “Yeah?”

“Of course! Don’t ever worry about that.” He said, swooping her into a hug. She still seemed so small in his arms. Definitely not toddler sized anymore, but still small enough that he could pretend crush her in his arms.

They stood in silence for a few moments and Alfred patted her back soothingly.

“You’re not gonna go on that date with Ms.Bonnefoy, are you?” She asked quietly, a happier underlayer to her voice.

“Not a chance in hell, sweetie.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I'm doing?


	3. Chapter 3

The book had showed up in a little over a day, arriving on a sunny morning in a floppy, white bag. Alfred had noticed it on the porch and shoved it into his work bag among a flurry of larger books as he ran out to his car; first to drop Madeline off at school, then show up at work.

Now, at eleven in the morning in the tiny employee break room of Rockmann’s Construction Company, Alfred released the book from it’s plastic prison. The cover was glossy and nearly the same shade that Matthew’s shirt had been at the park. Dandelions were all across it and framed a loopy scripture of the title, elegantly tasteful compared to the stock image photos of Matthew’s other books.

It was beautiful in a melancholy way. A black and white lighthouse stood in the center of the cover, embossed against the paper. He wondered if Matthew had designed the cover himself; was that how these things worked?

“‘The Process of Dandelions’, eh?” One of his coworkers asked, his voice gruff from years of smoking. “You flippin’ to the softer side of life now, Jones?”

“Shut up, Goreski.” Alfred grumbled through a mouth full of pastrami sandwich. Pastrami on rye specifically; a savory mid-afternoon treat. “Last time I checked there was still a Playboy in your locker.”

The rotund man paused his rooting through the fridge to shoot a sullen glance back at Alfred, getting a shit-eating grin from the blond. “Oh, I see how it is.”

“Do you?” He responded, trying to push his coworker out of his mind.

“You ain’t attracted to the stunning beauty that is the female form?” Goreski mocked, pulling out the chair across from Alfred. He dropped his lunchbag on the table with a sickening plop sound. “Aw crap, the wife packed me applesauce again.”

Alfred rolled his eyes and ignored the contradiction. “It’s not that. It’s just, I don’t know, I’m not really into any of that anymore.”

“Not into it? Have you _seen_ Pamela Anderson?”

He almost spit out his pastrami as he snorted. “How old are those magazines you have? Anyways I have more important things to think about than pretty women.”

“Mff.”

Alfred hadn’t even gotten to the first word of the book yet. His eyes hesitated over the dedication page and he forgot to chew.

_To whoever reads this: Thank you. However, I say with a heavy heart, this book is not dedicated to you._

_Sorry, Amy._

_This book is dedicated to myself._

* * *

Everything around him was alive and beating like he was connected to it. His heart was racing and the posters in the room popped out at him with more vivid colors than they’d had previously, like the saturation in the room had been boosted.

“I’m...really hungry.” Matthew whispered. His eyes stung from staring at a particularly bright poster for a concert long passed, fascinated by the way the band member on the poster had eyes like sapphires. “He’s got pretty eyes.”

“Here’s an option,” Gilbert started, “Eat, uh…”

He spaced out and Matthew watched as the albino rolled over in his beanbag, so he was face down with his hand still sticking out.

“Eat my entire ass, gay boy!” He laughed into the beanbag. Up on the bed behind him, Elizabeta snorted and took a sip of her beer.

“That’s only allowed if I can film it.” She said, her voice like rich honey. “Who’s got pretty eyes, Mattie?”

Smoke hung around in the room, the smell of weed in Matthew’s nostrils. It’d been over an hour since his last hit but the effects still wavered in his head. “He does. The poster guy. They look like oceans...or the sky.”

Eliza swung her legs off her bed and walked over to Matthew, her chestnut colored hair sweeping into his face as she dropped next to him. She threw her arms around his shoulders and Matthew could smell a distinct trace of Gilbert’s cologne in her sweater. It was too musky for his tastes.

“Sweetie, I hate to alarm you,” She said, squinting towards the poster, “But that man has brown eyes.”

“No, no, they’re blue like,” Matthew paused and tried to get the gears in his head moving. “Like the underside of a glacier. Or Blueberries.”

Gilbert let out a snore and his knees buckled from under him. Moments later he was flopped half on the bean bag and half off, his face still buried in the bright orange pleather. They watched him for a few silent moments before Eliza redirected her attention to Matthew like a hawk. She hadn’t taken any direct hits; mainly just inhaled the secondhand smoke that lingered around, giving her the upper hand against Matthew’s dazed head.

“Whose eyes do you think you’re seeing?” She asked. A smirk grew across her face as Matthew wet his lips. “Anyone I know?”

She was strangely interested in Matthew’s love life and he’d noticed many times- so had Gilbert.

“I don’t know.” Matthew muttered. Eliza pouted.

“There’s no one? Absolutely no one?”

Trying his best to keep his breathing regular, Matthew nodded. There was something lurking in his chest and he could feel it with every inhale. “Do we have anymore muffins?”

“You can have a muffin in exchange for blue-eyed boy.”

He looked at her and debated whether a muffin was really worth the toll.

* * *

 

By the middle of the afternoon, Alfred was over halfway done with the book.

His Pastrami on Rye had been abandoned on his plate, half the sandwich now getting mushy in the warm room. The box fan on the floor next to him worked away at filtering the hot air through the open windows and Alfred failed to contain his yawn. He was alone in his small office and took advantage of it, sneaking ‘small’ segments of the book in during his work.

Matthew’s book was a page turner and a fast read; albeit one that made him feel sleepy from the rather slow plot. Not that that was a bad thing, Alfred noted as he turned onto the next page. He had one elbow popped up on his desk and the book balanced between his fingers, his glasses pushed up as far as they’d go. The letters in the words popped out as he ran his finger over them and whispered the words under his breath, droned out by the fan.

_“And just like that, I found myself wondering; who’d built these walls around me?”_ Alfred read the dialog out loud to the empty room. _“Why was it different for me when I’d kissed her than it had been for my friends with their girls? Why didn’t I feel excited or happy, or anything besides kinda grossed out by the way her perfume smelled and her lipgloss tasted?”_

He laughed; he’d never liked lipgloss much either. Too goopy and weirdly sticky- like kissing the back of a sticker.

Someone knocked on the door to his little private office and Alfred hastily shoved the book under a stack of paperwork.

* * *

 

Amelia’s shoe was untied and with every step she took, it made a clicking sound against the sidewalk. She and Madeline walked side by side under the rows of fragrant Cherry Blossoms that lined the way to Amelia’s house. They were in perfect synced, left foot then right. A bright pink converse in line with purple mary-janes, white ankle socks and black tights.

“Hey, didn’t your dad go on a date with the dragonlady?” Amelia asked, breaking their silence. “Do you think he could ask for less homework for us?”

Madeline shook her head. “I don’t think it went very well. The extra homework was probably my fault, I’m sorry.”

“What? No way, Ms.Kirkland is just being like,” She said, stopping in her tracks to think of the right word. “Like, a bitch.”

“Amy!”

The taller girl snorted and Madeline let out a soft giggle when Amelia tapped her side. Flower petals fluttered down around them and coated the ground beneath them in a layer of pink. The world was colorful around them; hues of pink and purple practically swirling in the air.

“I’m just worried about him, you know?” Madeline whispered. She kicked a stray rock and watched it bounce into the gutter. “What if he’s unhappy? Or if he ends up with someone awful! I tried to set him up with people I thought he would like-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Amelia said, pulling at Madeline’s sleeve and making her stop in her tracks. “You set your dad up with Ms.Kirkland?”

A shrug followed by a quick nod. _“Dude._ Imagine if they’d gotten along, she could have ended up as your stepmom!”

“I… don’t want that.”

“You really didn’t think that one through, did you?”

Madeline flushed with embarrassment. “Guess not. I really doubted that Ms.Kirkland would get that far though. What about you though?

“Would I date Ms.Kirkland?” Amelia questioned. She screwed her face up in disgust and let out a loud raspberry only for an unfortunate flower petal to land on her tongue.

“Ew!” Madeline exclaimed as Amelia spit out the petal near her feet. “No, who would you set my dad up with? If you knew anyone?”

There was a long pause as the two started walking again and Amelia’s shoes remained untied, the clicking sound returning. Madeline stuck her foot down and pressed the shoelace into the pavement, Amelia nearly tripping. She grabbed a fistful of Madeline’s jacket to steady herself.

“That one’s too easy, Maddie.” She stated matter of factly with a grin, hopping on one foot. “Matthew, of course. I know that Mattie is single!”

The two looked at each other. Madeline went straight to nervously playing with one of her backpack strings, tugging at her bottom lip. “I don’t know, Amy. Your brother is really nice and I like him a lot, but I don’t know if my dad likes him. I don’t want him to be lonely.”

“So you set him up with the dragonlady?” Amelia asked. Madeline didn’t miss the sarcasm in her voice and dropped her backpack string. “Think of it this way; If they ever got married, we’d be sister-in-laws! Plus, they got along so well at the park that the flower booth lady already thought they were a couple!”

“Oh.” Madeline said. “I guess Matthew is pretty cute, too.”

* * *

 

The muffin was cold and grossly damp in Matthew’s hand.

“C’mon then, I got you a treat,” Eliza hummed leaning against the opposite side of the island counter. “Tell me about your blue-eyed suitor.”

“He’s not my suitor.”

Matthew bit a huge chunk out of the muffin to avoid the question further. He focused in on the other things in the room, like the quiet rock music running out of worn speakers.

“Fine, I’ll ask questions and you can nod in response, okay?” She insisted, sliding onto a breakfast stool. Using one hand to support her head, she grabbed the crumby plastic wrap out from under Matthew’s muffin and toyed with it. “Gay boys are so cute.”

Elizabeta wanted information and somewhere in the back of his head, the sober version of him didn’t want that. The high version of him was weirdly good at find feelings that sober Matthew was good at suppressing; he didn’t know what could come out of his mouth. He could say no, but Eliza was considerably stronger than him and Matthew didn’t want this to turn into him getting put into a headlock.

“So, is he a student here?”

Matthew shook his head.

“No? Did you two meet at a party?”

Another shake, and Eliza was quickly getting bored. She snatched Matthew’s muffin away from his face and pulled it to her side of the counter.

“I want _details_ , Matthew.” She said, holding the muffin just inches out of Matthew’s reach. “Ok, ok, let's start with something easier. What about him do you like? Describe him to me, writer-boy.”

Aimlessly stretching for his muffin, Matthew sighed. “I don’t know. He’s cute, but…”

“But what?”

“I don’t want to be with someone for just looks.” He paused, and the muffin scooted back towards him. “And I really don’t want a one-night stand.”

“Have you kissed him?

“No...” He responded. The muffin was in front of his face now, and he took it with delicate fingers. “I’d bet he’d be a good kisser, though. He has pretty lips. And he’s nice.”

Eliza smiled. “He’s nice?”

“He bought me a lemonade at the park. He bought my flowers for me, and he walked me away from the flower lady when I got embarrassed...” Matthew said, ending his words with a bite of muffin. He cradled it against his chest, crumbs falling out of his mouth and onto his hands. “He read one of my books. Said he liked it.”

“Awww,” Eliza replied, reaching to ruffle Matthew’s hair. “Enjoy your muffin, sweetheart.”

* * *

 

At home while Madeline off at Amelia’s, Alfred had the whole house to himself. Two stories of free space to do whatever he wanted. Normally he’d be playing a few of the videogames he still had from when he was younger, hooked up to the stereo system. Sometimes he’d watch a movie that Madeline was too young to see- this time was different.

This time he was balled up in the corner of the couch with Matthew’s book in his lap as a football game played in the background. On screen the announcer yelled out a play and a massive crowd cheered, Alfred blocking it out. He couldn’t have cared less about the game, instead flipping through the pages trying to find the one that he’d dog-eared earlier.

The book was weirdly addicting, like a nagging bug in the back of his head. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time a book made him this excited; maybe it’d never happened before.

“Sticker kiss, sticker kiss, lipgloss, lipgloss, liiiipppglossss,” Alfred muttered as he tried to find the paragraph he’d left on. “Oh, right, ok.”

With a small hum and a few clicks of the volume lower button, Alfred sank down into the couch. He pulled a blanket up around his waist, covering the soft print of his Batman pajama pants with a fuzzy pink throw.

_“Anything besides kinda grossed out by the way her perfume smelled and lipgloss tasted?”_ He started. _“I figured maybe that was just part of it. Maybe that was how all kissing felt.”_

_“So I went with it, for years. Fifteen to Seventeen, I assumed it was natural to feel disconnected from romantic feelings. Relationships were just things where it didn’t matter what you really felt as long as you were happy.”_

Alfred reached for his soda and a football player made a touchdown. He hadn’t expected for the Bailey character to be a boy, that was something he would have to tell Matthew. That, and that the kid was good at writing; It was like Alfred was reading his own feelings on the pages.

_“‘What changed that?’ Joshua asked. Bailey smiled at him.”_

_“‘ I kissed a boy.'”_

The soda hovered halfway to Alfred’s lips. He focused on the words before going back over the previous paragraphs, re-reading them with more focus than he had originally.

Huh.

_“I kissed a boy who kissed me back, and I realized I’d been going about everything wrong.”_ Alfred said, reading the words slowly. _“It didn’t matter that I’d had a crush on girls when I was younger; they simply weren’t for me.”_

Even though the TV was loud, the house seemed to quiet around him. Just like earlier with the dedication, the words on the page stood out to him like they were highlighted.

_“I kissed a boy who kissed me back, and I realized I’d been going about everything wrong.”_

This habit of holding his breath subconsciously was getting out control. That line bothered him; he couldn’t place a finger on why though.  
  
He flipped the book closed and tossed it onto a nearby arm chair before he even registered what he was doing; spending the next few moments forcing his eyes to follow the players on screen. Drumming his fingers against first the armrest, then his actual arm before finally settling with keeping them steady against his jaw. He felt _weird_.

Biting his lip, Alfred felt his stomach tumble. Whether it was a mixture of hunger or buried anxiety, he didn’t know or care. He didn’t figure it out by the time he had pulled off his batman pants and hitched up a pair of jeans, or when he’d thrown on a shirt. Grabbed his nice pair of reading glasses and Matthew’s book before running out the front door.

\-------------------------

“Hey, do you guys want anything?” Matthew asked, his phone pressed against his cheek. “I can always bring you guys back something. No? Alright, then I’ll see you guys later.”

Trying for a moment to push in the pull-out glass door, Matthew walked into the coffee shop with a blush. Gilbert’s voice on his cell clicked off and he tucked it away into his coat pocket, switching it for his wallet. The effect of the pot was gone now, having disappeared not too long after his and Eliza’s talk. But desperation to get away from the questioning girl had lead him outside and to coffee.

The bitter smell of earth tones and rich syrups was like a warm hug; Matthew wanted to live in it. The general chatter had toned down enough that he could easily hear the woman plucking at a guitar in the corner, and behind the counter steam hissed. Sleepy people lounging in their chairs, some on laptops, some energetically chatting with their companions, and a few lone people tucked away in the armchairs with books. Within the confine of exposed brick walls people relaxed, and Matthew did too, finally able to escape nagging feelings.

Matthew hadn’t realized he’d been chilly until he stood in line, the atmosphere soaking into his bones through his coat.

“Maple caramel latte, please,” He smiled at the barista, “For Matthew.”

Pulling out a chair by the door, Matthew dropped his things on the table. He yawned and watched over the counter as the baristas did their thing. An espresso for a woman in a blue dress and red lipstick who didn’t thank the barista, a chai tea for a younger girl in yoga pants named Chantelle.

He wished he’d brought his notebook- either of them could make for inspiration. People watching was one of his special talents; different qualities from people could be mashed up into one character.

The guitar player in the corner strummed out the last few chords of a song and Matthew clapped along with everyone else, only having barely heard the last half. She had an airy laugh and earrings that vaguely resembled carrots, a gap in her teeth that flashed as she reached for her mug. Distinctive features that’d stick in someone’s mind; he’d almost ignored looking over at the next person getting their order in favor of her.

“Hazelnut Americano for Alfred!”

Matthew glanced over and felt his breath caught in his throat.

Alfred’s hands lingered over the barista’s as he took his mug, thanking her with a smile. He’d blended into the coffeeshop surroundings so well that Matthew hadn’t even noticed him. Maybe it was the semi-rimless glasses perched on top of his head or the black v-neck that had caused Matthew to skip right over him, but it was unmistakably Alfred.

He could tell he was staring, his mouth slightly parted as he watched the older man carry his coffee back to his table. He was set up in the back corner and had a book pressed open on the table, a thick coat thrown over the chair back. Whether it was because he felt the stare or simply him trying to get resettled, Alfred looked up.

For a moment he simply swept over the rest of the coffeehouse before his eyes caught Matthew’s. The same look of surprise crossed his face and he lowered his coffee back down, the tumbling in his stomach returning.

“Matthew!” Alfred called. Seconds later he grinned and eagerly waved for the younger man to come sit with him.

Hopping down from his stool, Matthew made his way over to Alfred’s table with a light smile and a flop-flop in his gut. Earlier when Eliza had asked him to describe Alfred, there hadn’t been any particular words for him to use; now it was like there was too many in his head.

“Hey, Alfred.” He said, his voice softer than he wanted. “I didn’t know you came here.”

“First time, actually.” Alfred responded. He pushed aside a crumby plate so Matthew had elbow room, pulling down his glasses as Matthew folded his hands on the table.

Alfred was dressed vastly differently than he had been at the park, and Matthew tried not to blatantly stare. The way his shirt fit just a little too tightly, his muscles clearly defined for the first time in the short sleeves. His hair was ruffled and messy instead of slicked down or styled; soft, short waves that Matthew imagined would be velvety feeling.

‘What are you doing here?” He asked, and Matthew looked into his eyes.

Oceans, sky, the underside of a glacier. Blueberries.

“I was just looking to get some coffee- it’s a nice night tonight.” Matthew replied. He came off a little breathless and tried to play it off by yawning. “I’m just waiting for them to call off my order. Where’s Madeline?”

“At her other half’s house tonight. Do you want me to go get your order when they call it?”

“Eh? Oh, no, I can get-” Matthew started, cut off by the sound of his own name being called. Alfred stood up before Matthew did, flashing him a quick grin.

“Don’t worry, bro, I got you.”

And as Alfred made his way to the counter, Matthew didn’t even try to hide it as he checked him out. Solid jawline, fluid muscles, all wrapped up under lightly tanned skin; he hardly looked old enough to be father of an eleven-year-old. Alfred looked like one of Matthew’s classic romance heroes: Tall, built, and _stunning_. If only he was gay, Matthew mused, Eliza would be on him like a fly to honey.

Looks were just that though; looks. Matthew glanced at the book Alfred had closed and reached for it, grabbing a corner and tugging it towards him. He was expecting something funny, or a thing of crosswords maybe, but with one look at the cover, Matthew’s heart skipped. His heart skipped and he gripped the book with tingling fingers.

His book. _His_ book was right here, tucked up near the empty plate. _His_ book, the one he’d only told Alfred about a few days ago, the one that wasn’t about mushy romance and smut. Multiple pages had their corners dog-eared, different spots through the book where Alfred had had to set it down.

Alfred must have ordered it the day Matthew had told him about it, or gotten two-day shipping. Not only had Alfred listened to him ramble about writing; He’d been interested enough to buy more of Matthew’s books.

“It came in the mail this morning,” Came Alfred’s voice, and Matthew almost hit the underside of his coffee, he looked up so fast. “I haven’t been able to put it down since.”

“You like it?” Matthew asked, setting the book down to take his cup from Alfred. The orange mug was warm to the touch, and Alfred handed it to Matthew with a napkin under it.

“I love it!” He responded, sitting back down. “You, uh… Bailey. Bailey’s my favorite character so far.”

Holding his coffee, Matthew wondered if he looked as panicked as he felt. What was Alfred about to say? Had it been a question? A complaint?

“Matthew, are you…” Alfred lingered, looking out towards the window. He was simply curious, that was all. Simple curiosity. “Uh…”

Funny, eating something was supposed to have helped the feeling in his stomach.

Panic turned to dread in Matthew’s chest. Alfred was taking far too long to ask whatever question lurked in his mind, and with every second that went by, Matthew became more and more convinced it wasn’t about his book. He’d never had trouble coming out to anyone before; friends or parents- Alfred was different for some reason.

They weren’t quite friends, but it felt like they more than acquaintances; at least to Matthew. He could tell he was attracted to Alfred, he wrote about this kind of stuff for a living. It was simply physical though, and he didn’t want that. Simply physical.  
  
“Why’d you buy it?” Matthew blurted out, getting Alfred’s attention back. He took a quick sip of his latte- it didn’t help.

“I wanted to see more of your writing,” Alfred reasoned. “And this one was the one you said you were most proud of. It’s obvious you’ve put a lot of love and work into it. It’s absolutely fantastic, Matthew.”

Matthew nodded a little too slowly and hid behind his mug. Across from him, Alfred stared down into his Americano like it was vastly important.

“I’m gay.”

Instant regret and relief hit him. Regret, relief, a little bit of nausea, a hoping that that didn’t come out quite as desperate as it sounded in his head, all mixing in his head right until Alfred looked up. When Alfred slowly drew his head up from his coffee and just blinked at Matthew, his lips parting slightly.

“Just so you know.” Matthew added.

Alfred took a sip of the Americano, and across the room the woman started singing again. A dainty little song that brightened the entire place, but that didn’t stop Matthew from curling his toes or clutching his coffee mug nervously. Hiis heart was beating rapidly and Alfred seemed to move in slow motion as he wiped coffee off his lip, his thumb lingering.

“Huh.” Alfred finally replied. “Your book dedication makes more sense now.”

Matthew stared down into his latte, slightly agitated. He’d somehow expected something a bit more deep or personal. “That’s it?”

Setting his mug down, Alfred leaned back and watched the younger man across from him. Matthew was squinting, his shoulders hunched like Alfred’s response had been disappointing. Alfred’s stomach felt the same way it had earlier in the evening- if not even more so. Food hadn’t helped at all like he thought it would and Matthew’s words had him knotted up inside. He’d struggled to figure out what to say at all besides blankly stare at Matthew, and now he was getting nothing.

“Oh?” Alfred smirked, leaning in towards Matthew. The blond kid looked up and the slightly bitter expression was replaced with a flustered one as Alfred reached his hand out across the table. He let it rest in the middle, inches away from Matthew’s. “Were you expecting something different maybe?”

Was this- was this flirting? Or was Alfred teasing him for his reaction? Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Alfred’s hand moving; his middle finger was tracing small circles on the tabletop, slowly dragging against the wood. Matthew’s mouth felt dry when he looked; he still couldn’t tell if this was teasing or flirting.

“No, it’s just that,” He said, voice cracking. “Most people tend to have a more, uh, dramatic reaction.”

Alfred’s hand stopped instantly. “Dramatic? Like, not badly, right?”

“Oh, no, no!” Matthew replied. “Nobody’s ever hurt me or anything if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Silence fell between them and Alfred’s hand curled into a ball. “I’m gonna get a brownie, do you want anything?”

He shook his head as the older man stood up. The sun had set a while ago and by now the night chill was setting in through the windows; Matthew could feel it when he pressed a finger to the cool glass. A mirror image of the inside of the coffee shop was reflected, a duller version of himself holding a settled-foam latte and Alfred in the background pointing at various treats.

The barista with red bows in her hair grabbed a brownie for Alfred, Matthew watching her reflection. She slid it into a brown bag and handed it over to Alfred, who in turn looked at Matthew and pointed. The barista smiled as she and Alfred talked, both of them glancing over at the blond. Matthew wanted to turn around and actually look at them- whatever is was the barista had just asked made Alfred blush and shake his head. Another bag was handed over and Matthew hurried to make it look like he was checking his phone.

“Hey, I know you said you didn’t want anything,” Alfred said as he approached the table, “But I got you this. I was kinda hoping we could go walk around outside- it’s a little too warm in here for me.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” He murmured, taking the crinkly brown bag from Alfred. Maybe Alfred liked buying things for people; Maybe Matthew was misinterpreting his niceness. “Are you my sugar daddy now, eh?”

Alfred nearly dropped his brownie and Matthew let out a small laugh. He smiled as he grabbed his jacket, tucking the book into one of the inside pockets and offering Matthew a hand up.

“No, I’m trying to fatten you up. Get you off that college kid diet of ramen and air.”

Alfred’s hand was rough and broad in Matthew’s; Matthew’s hand felt fragile. Neither knew that the other didn't want to let go, but they broke apart as they walked to the coffee shop exit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't love this chapter but I gotta post it or itll just sit in my drafts foreverrrrrrrrrrrrr


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW ahead so heads up for that.

“Uh-huh,” Alfred said. He held his phone to his ear, and Matthew could hear Madeline’s pitched voice on the other line. “Well I can definitely get you some tomorrow, sweetie. Oh, wait, what kind?”

It was even colder outside now than it had been when he’d shown up at the coffee shop, and Matthew pulled his coat sleeves down over his knuckles. He used to be immune to the cold, able to roam around in near zero temperatures with no problem at all- he wasn’t quite sure when it was he’d stopped being able to do that.

“Store brand is okay though?”

The pastry bag crinkled under his fingertips. He had yet to look inside, waiting for Alfred to eat his as well. Whatever it was smelled sweet and was warm even through the bag, like a little bundle of warmth all for him.

“Count on it, sweetie. Okay, okay, have fun at Amy’s,” A pause as Alfred let out a quick laugh in response to something. “Remember to brush your teeth. Goodnight to you too, hunbun.”

With a beep, Alfred’s phone was pushed back into a narrow pant pocket. He looked at Matthew with a sigh and a smile, illuminated by a nearby store window. His back popped as he arched his shoulders and Matthew almost winced- it sounded painful.

“Sorry, ‘bout that. She probably won’t be asleep for another few hours. And apparently, she has a desperate need for cornstarch.”

“Cornstarch?”

“Yeah, I don’t know.” Alfred shrugged. “Hey, you didn’t eat your maple thing yet.”

“My maple-”

“I snooped on your coffee order with the barista and took a wild guess. Thought you’d be down for a maple donut,” He explained as Matthew looked into the crinkly bag. “Or donut thing, I didn’t really catch what she called it.”

A simple, flaky pastry sat in the bag, hidden by brown tissue paper. Golden strips of puff pastry braided together that stuck to Matthew’s fingertips as he pulled it out, little nubs of pecan sprinkled on top. Of course Alfred would’ve gotten this one from the barista- Matthew ordered it nearly every time he went in there.

Less sugary and more savory, with a cream cheese filling spilling out the sides and fusing to the paper. Picking at it with his finger, Matthew pinched a dollop of filling out; it tasted the way the inside of the coffeehouse had felt.

“I was just waiting for you to eat yours, I didn’t want to seem rude.” Matthew said quietly, looking up just in time to see Alfred shove a brownie chunk in his mouth.

Alfred stared at him, mouth not quite closed all the way around the brownie edges. He was trying not to grin through the brownie at the risk of joking, but managed to grunt out a startled sounding: “Oh.”

* * *

 

“So, can I walk you to your car?” Alfred asked, swiping away crumbs from his mouth and onto his hands, which was then wiped on his pants. “I’m not this much of a snob usually, I swear.”

 _I’m just nervous,_ but Alfred left that part out. It didn’t quite make sense to him; he didn’t really want to dwell on it for more than a moment. Somehow Matthew gave him the same feeling he got at parent-teacher conferences, nervous and fluttery like he’d downed a pot of coffee. A little less emotionally constipated, however.

“Oh, I, uh,” He started, jamming his free hand into his coat pocket. “I walked here, actually. My roommates- they, uh…”

“They...huh?”

Alfred caught the hint when Matthew shrugged, his eyes downcast towards the sidewalk. It was frankly adorable the way his hair fell and the way he pursed his lips, turning them into a thin pink line. “Oh! _...Oh._ ”

“Yeah. And, you know, as easy as it is to write about it, I’m not really a fan of-”

“Dude, dude! I totally get you, you don’t have to explain.” Alfred laughed. He clapped his hand on one of Matthew’s shoulders and the younger man had to lock his knees to stop himself from accidently tripping- Alfred was _strong_. “I can probably guess that if you went home now there, there’d be like a sock on the doorknob or something? Is that like, an actual thing they do or just some horrible TV cliche?”

Matthew smiled at him and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, shifting closer to him. He wasn’t even sure where they were walking; Alfred didn’t seem to know or care much either, and they both glowed under the street lamps. Darkness bit away at every corner and around the edges of Matthew’s vision, sharp shadows contrasted against their jaw lines and over their clothing.

He tugged a corner of the pastry off and popped it in his mouth. It was like sitting in front of a fireplace, bundled up in flaky layers of maple. Much, _much_ better than his soggy muffin from earlier.

“Supposedly, eh. But with my friends, it’s really more of a touch-and-go situation.” Alfred chuckled off to Matthew’s left. “Sometimes literally.”

The thought of Gilbert rolling around on his beanbag and shouting at him appeared in his mind, and Matthew bit the inside of his cheek.

Alfred however, snorted and crinkled his empty brownie bag into a ball. He tossed it over hand above Matthew’s head and they watched it bounce off the rim of the nearby trashcan, teetering on the rim. The older man cheered when it landed inside and clapped a hand on Matthew’s back, pulling it back seconds later.

They walked in silence after that, close enough that Matthew’s arm brushed against Alfred’s and made a _swish_ sound every time. The sound of shoes dragging across sidewalk; Matthew’s probably. Quiet, yet heavy, and he practically devoured the pastry in the silence. He didn’t particularly care what sound his shoes made, more focused on how aware he was of the inside of his coat pockets, his free hand clammy against the fleece lining.

Walking down the streets with Alfred was much more appealing than hiding in his bedroom, trying to drown out Eliza and Gilbert.

“Hey, you know what? Here,” Alfred said, and Matthew looked over his shoulder at him as a weight draped across his back. “I’m not even using it, and you’ve been shivering since we came outside. Maybe we should have just stayed inside.”

Alfred’s coat made him feel small, less like he was swimming in it and more like being wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. Comforting and warm, and Alfred’s hands lingered on his shoulders while he smoothed the coat down over Matthew’s thin frame.

“Sorry if it smells a bit strange- It’s the one I wear at work mostly.”

It smelled like woodchips and sawdust, the sickly sweet smell of cut wood right below Matthew’s nose. He absentmindedly pulled it around himself, kneading his fingers into the soft denim. The coat was heavy and warm and for a moment he thought maybe his heart was beating a little too fast for his mind to play catch-up.

And suddenly it was like Matthew could feel his stomach plummet and twist, his lips parting softly. He could hear Eliza in his head practically urging him on-

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to.”

It’d be so easy to kiss Alfred right now, Matthew thought.

* * *

 

“Amy, you’re getting glitter in my hair!”

“It’s _supposed_ to be in your hair, Maddie!” The older girl said with a pout. “They’re called _glitter roots,_ bro.”

“I didn’t realize you meant- _fine_ , go ahead.” Madeline huffed. “I thought we were gonna have s’mores.”

The carpet beneath them was thick with neon glitter, clinging to their clothing and grinding into the fabric around them. It dug into Amelia’s knees as she kneeled with her hands weaved into Madeline’s hair, irritating and itchy.

A disney movie played on the tv in Amelia’s room and they both muttered along to the songs in unison, belting out when chorus started. Amelia wiggled around in her spot behind Madeline as a princess twirled around on screen, glittery flakes falling out of her hair as well.

“We can still have s’mores!”

Madeline twisted to look at Amelia and grinned. “Yeah? Is that a good idea, marshmallows around glitter?”

“Heck yeah!” Amelia replied, promptly yelling moments later. “HEY, MOM? CAN ME AND MADDIE HAVE SOME DESSERT?”

The long haired girl laughed then immediately hissed as Amelia tugged on her hair while standing up.

Ten minutes later and they both had marshmallow stuck to their fingertips, hair in various stages of disarray. Amelia had blue glitter in her hair opposite Madeline’s pink, both with chocolate smeared over their lips and crumbs on their shorts.

Amelia’s mouth was full of sticky s’more that muddled her words, and she made a popping sound with her cheek as she nibbled marshmallow off her finger. “Mads? Can I ask you something?”

Madeline nodded and paused their movie. Elsa froze mid-song on screen as Maddie turned to look at Amy, stifling a giggle at the sheer amount of chocolate she had managed to get on her cheeks. The other girl was focused on her s’more and didn’t look up, but rubbed her fist against her lips in an effort to clean them.

“What happened to your mom?”

* * *

 

“Matthew?”

_No, no, no, no, Matthew Williams don’t you dare-_

“Are you okay?” Alfred asked. It sounded like he was standing behind a glass wall, one that shattered when his hands fell from Matthew’s shoulders. The warmth from his hands stayed imprinted on Matthew. “You’re all spacey.”

The older man was visibly worried and Matthew kneaded his hands into the inner shell of Alfred’s coat; What he really wanted to do was run them through Alfred’s hair. Tug at it lightly and feel Alfred’s warm lips against his own-

_Alfred is a 30 year old straight man with a daughter._

A beat of silence and Matthew’s breath came out breathy, having to force it past the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

Alfred’s forehead creased as he scrunched his eyebrows, and Matthew cut him off before he could ask Matthew why he was sorry. He didn’t want to explain it to him; Matthew wasn’t entirely sure he could explain it to _himself._

“Why did you give me your coat?” It came out way too fast, and Matthew hated the way Alfred took a step back from him. He had his hands raised like he was trying to prove he didn’t have anything.

“You looked cold?” Alfred responded, lowering his hands and sliding them into his back pockets. “I wasn’t trying something, I swear to God.”

Matthew blinked at him before dropping not only his gaze, but his voice. “I didn’t think you were.”

“Should I- Should I not have done that?” He asked. Taking a few steps forward so he could level with Matthew, Alfred kept a slow pace.

“No, no, I really appreciate it,” Matthew responded, lingering on his next words. “Thank you.”

Alfred smiled at him and Matthew’s heart fluttered. Alfred’s eyes looked nearly green in the light, his hair a golden mess.  
  
“‘Course, man. And ya’ gotta let me know if I ever make you uncomfortable, okay? Speaking of which,” Alfred yawned, stretching his arms up and above his head, muscles tensing under his shirt. “Do you mind if we walk back to my house? I’m jonesin’ for an aspirin right now. I could drive you back to your school if you want!”

“My roommates, they’re probably still-”

“Oh, right! Right, yuck.” Alfred smiled, and Mathew recognized the street they were turning to walk down as only a few blocks away from Alfred’s house. “Do you wanna hang out with me for a bit?”

Matthew bit the inside of his bottom lip and nodded.

* * *

 

There was still half a s’more in her hand and graham cracker bits under her fingernails, but she hadn’t taken a bite in quite a few moments. The marshmallow was squishing out from the sides and the chocolate was no longer melty, cooled down enough that the crackers didn’t slide around.

“I don’t know.” She said slowly, feeling the crackers crumble under her fingertips. “I’ve just never had one.”

Amelia slowly sank off her bed and slid down next to Madeline, knocking their elbows and shoulders together. “Huh.”

“What?” Madeline asked when Amelia blinked at her.

“Nothing, nothing.” A bite of s’more, and the chewing could be heard around the room .”I just really want your dad to like Mattie.”

Curling her toes into the carpet, Madeline burrowed herself against the mound of pillows they’d thrown together. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t think Mattie is very happy.” She said, voice low. Madeline wrapped an arm around her shoulder and handed off the rest of her s’more to Amelia.

* * *

 

They were little over a block away now and walking at a snail’s pace. Alfred had a hand on his side, the other clamped around the book. Every odd step had his hand brushing against an empty coat sleeve that hung off Matthew’s shoulder.

“Well, like, I do get it.” Alfred said, “Ramen sure is a hell of alot cheaper than actual food. When Madeline was a baby, my diet was pretty much all cheeseburgers and fast food. Wrecked my cholesterol the hell up.”

Matthew laughed and his hand brushed against Alfred’s. “Yeah, I would imagine so. Right now my diet is mostly, uh, what did you say earlier? Ramen and air?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, sorta. I had a muffin earlier if it counts.”

Alfred’s gut did a somersault every time he felt Matthew’s hand instead of sleeve. He didn’t want to come off as creepy and pulled his hand away after every simple brush- Matthew’s hand was alarmingly cold.

“Just a muffin? Like one singular muffin?”

He got a humming sound in response.

“Do you want like, actual food? I’d totally get us dinner if you’re hungry.”

“Really?” Matthew asked. They were now just down the street from the house, the porch light illuminating the stairs and porch.

“Yeah! We could get chinese, or pizza, or-”

“I thought you said actual food.” Matthew laughed.

“That is actual food, don’t you judge me. But we could get some food, watch some tv. Do you like football?”

Alfred’s breath caught in his chest when Matthew tapped him on the shoulder- he was a grown ass man, yet somehow, Matthew made him feel like a teenage girl. There was no breath in his lungs and his stomach felt washy; no wonder food hadn’t helped.

“Or like, maybe we could watch some of _The Walking Dead_?”

This wasn’t a food problem.

But it certainly was a problem of some kind, Alfred reasoned as Matthew smiled at him and his chest felt instantly lighter. Because Matthew was younger than him, they barely knew each other, they were literally walking up the stairs to his house and Alfred wasn’t even sure if he was-

“I’m thinking Thai food, that alright with you?” He spluttered, fishing his keys out of his pocket. He fumbled for a moment and practically stabbed the lock with the key, his fingernails pressing into the book cover so hard that they left little half-moon imprints. “There’s a place nearby that delivers.”

Matthew sounded even more nervous than he felt, and Alfred caught the break in his voice that he’d tried to hide. “Thai sounds great. Maybe we could get some spring rolls?”

Alfred nodded and pushed the door open, ushering Matthew inside. He jammed the book into the keyholder as he slammed the door- damn lighthouse.

“Hey, um, Matthew,” Alfred started, dropping his coat over one of the living room chairs. He turned to see Matthew stripping off the jacket he’d had on under Alfred’s, pausing with one sleeve still on. “You want a beer or something?”

“Yeah, that’d be awesome.”

* * *

 

“So she keeps trying to set me up, you know?” Alfred said inbetween a bite of food. “And well, bless her heart, but I’m really not looking to meet someone through my eleven year old.”

Nodding his head, Matthew finished off a swig of beer. “I can relate, eh. My friend- she keeps trying to set me up with these guys she meets. But it’s college, no one is looking for an actual relationship, it’s all hook-ups and one night stands.”

“Doesn’t get much better on the outside, Matt,” Responded Alfred. He reached for his own bottle and brought it to his lips before finishing. “People talk to me, find out I have a kid and next thing you know, it’s all ‘Oh, I can’t make it to our date, I have my aunt’s cousin Sally’s uncle’s wedding rehearsal dinner that day.’”

Matthew snorted and grabbed another spring roll.

“Or, or, my personal favorite- people that auto assume I’m asking them to be like, involved in Madeline’s life. Like no, I’m not asking you to start attending PTA meetings and shit or be her new mom- I’m just asking you out to coffee.”

They both both yelled at the tv as a character on screen got killed, fake blood running down the actor’s face.

“I could see how that’d be bad,” Matthew said, watching Alfred as he leaned back into the couch. “My last boyfriend left me because I was too boring. Something about me not partying just didn’t work for him.”

“Really? What an asshole,” Came the reply. “I don’t think you’re boring, Matthew. Laid-back and cool, but not boring.”

Matthew smiled. His beer made his head feel warm and fuzzy, and he was already halfway through his second one. “Laid-back and cool?”

“Definitely.” Alfred smirked, twirling another bite of pad thai. “Cool enough for me to be seen with you, at least.”

His stomach felt like it was filled with butterflies that he quickly drowned with another drink. “So what about you then? Were you ever part of the party scene?”

“Yeah, I guess I was, you know,” Alfred said, “Before Madeline and all.”

Matthew must’ve visibly paled because when Alfred looked up he smiled, waving his hand to ward off any misunderstandings. He ran a lazy hand through his hair and traded his plate out for his bottle, downing the last of the amber liquid in a quick gulp.

“Hey, don’t sweat it, it happened a long time ago. But the last time I partied- like actually partied, it was on a yacht. I remember it really well because someone fell into the water and there was a whole ordeal, but it was pretty fun.” There was a brief moment as Alfred got lost in thought and tugged on his lip. “I wore a suit.”

“A yacht? Like an actual yacht?” Matthew asked, speaking through a mouth of spring roll.

“Yup. My girlfriend back then was pretty loaded, we went to the same school,” He explained. “I’m glad things turned out the way they did though.”

They both yelled at the tv as another character got killed, both of them laughing at their shared enthusiasm. It was relaxing and Matthew could feel a buzz in his head, wondered if Alfred could feel it too. Probably not.

“Hey, do you ever watch those woodworking shows?” Alfred asked, eyes trained on the screen. “I fucking love them.”

“What shows?” Matthew asked, pulling his legs up onto the couch. He was facing the tv but focused on Alfred’s hand, on how his finger was running along the bottle opening; the same way he’d been circling his finger against the coffeeshop table.

“The construction ones that show you how to make tables and stuff. The public broadcasting ones that air at like 3 a.m.” He answered. “They play acoustic music and some old dude talks about how nicely constructed some of these old homes are, and how finely detailed everything is.”

Matthew bit the inside of his lip as Alfred’s finger slipped into the bottle, Matthew’s breath shallow. Maybe it wasn’t flirting or teasing (because as far as he could tell, Alfred wasn’t doing this on purpose) but it was enough to make Matthew’s heart flutter, like the butterflies in his heart were trying to exit through his mouth. That and, _well-_

“Hey, Alfred?” Matthew choked out, throat dry. He tucked his legs against his chest as Alfred turned to look, and sank down lower into the couch. “Do you think you could grab me another drink?”

Alfred nodded, leaving his bottle on the table. “Do you want a glass of water too?”

“No, thank you.” He said. The moment Alfred turned out of the room Matthew grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch, throwing it over his waist.

“Do you want the last few spring rolls?”

“You can have them if you want, I’m good.”

Alfred’s weight evened out the couch cushions as he sat down, two bottles in one hand and a white to-go container in the other. He passed one of the condensation covered bottles off to Matthew and made no comment about his blanket being taken, but did raise an eyebrow as Matthew downed the rest of his previous beer.

They clinked the bottles together and settled down, Matthew adjusting the blanket better. Alfred kicked his legs up onto the coffee table and popped open the container, a whiff of peanut sauce escaping as he pried off the tiny plastic lid. Relative silence as they watched someone on screen get a limb ripped off and Alfred shoved a spring roll into his mouth.

“Hey, thanks for hanging out with me, Matthew.” Alfred said, following a painful sounding gulp. “I forget how nice it is to hang with someone who isn’t eleven.”

“Yeah, hang out.” He replied with a smile. Unconsciously he fiddled with a few loose strands of hair, twirling them behind his fingertips. “At least my roommates will be happy I’m not moping around in their space.”

For a moment Matthew thought Alfred had choked on his spring roll, he’d sat up so fast. “Shit! I can’t drive you home!”

Matthew balled the blanket up in his fist- god, he was _dumb._ There was no way either of them could drive, not after roughly three drinks apiece. And he couldn’t just get up and walk, not with his- Alfred would definitely notice that. Probably. It wasn’t worth finding out, anyways.

“Shit, I didn’t even think-”

“I could probably walk.” Matthew said, tensing the muscles in his legs.

“No way, man,” The older man interrupted. “I’m not gonna let you go traipsing around outside in the dark while tipsy. Would you be alright crashing here for the night?”

Sucking in his bottom lip, Matthew sunk his teeth into the soft skin. He _could,_ he most certainly could.

“You’re not gonna miss class, right? ‘Cause school’s important and shit, I don’t want you to miss it because of me. And I’ve got a guest room so you won’t have to crash on the couch, I could lend you some clothes too so you’re not sleeping in jeans.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Matthew said, releasing his lip to talk. “I’d be okay with that. I don’t have class tomorrow, don’t worry about that.”

“Cool.”

A moment passed and Alfred braced his hands on his knees as he stood up. “I can clean this all up in the morning, but I’m gonna go set that room up. Hope you’re alright with a purple comforter. Hey, will you need to shower before bed?”

Matthew shook his head in response and credits rolled over the tv screen.

“Sounds good, I’ll go throw that bed together for you and then hop in the shower,” Alfred said, resting his hand on the doorframe as he left the room. He looked at Matthew over his shoulder and beamed. “Don’t pull a _psycho_ -esqe murder scene on me while I shower, ‘k?”

A few minutes later, after Alfred’s loud footsteps had finally retracted into the bathroom, Matthew sprinted to the guest room with the blanket over his waist.

* * *

 

There were many, many times Matthew wanted to be struck by lightning.

When he was in high school and accidentally gone into the girl’s locker room instead of the boy’s, or his first college kegster that had ended with drunken photos of him doing a kegstand on Facebook. When Eliza had pushed him up against a wall and kissed him in an effort to make Gilbert jealous before Matthew had come out as gay, or the time his mom’s friend had found his books and raved about them without knowing he was the author.

(He had yet to talk to Irina the same way again- somehow her Ukrainian accent was much less charming when she was recommending his own smut books to his mother.)

But this- this topped it.

This topped all of it.

Alfred standing in the hallway right outside the bathroom door, an _awfully_ small towel barely clinging to his hips. Water pooled around his feet and droplets ran out of his hair, bouncing onto broad, freckled shoulders. He looked like he belonged on the inside of a Men’s fitness magazine; or, you know, right on the front cover.

“Oh, sorry,” He said, running a hand through his damp hair. “I guess my shower ran a bit long, I didn’t mean to cut you off from bathroom access.”

Under the hallway light, every single one of his muscles were highlighted in soft yellow light. He was smiling at Matthew, only one hand holding his towel up. A soft trail of almost too-light-to-see Hair led from his bellybutton to right under the brim of the towel; Matthew wasn’t sure if there was air in his lungs at all- his mouth felt full of cotton.

Matthew tightened his grip on the glass of water in his hand, the ice cold feeling numbing his palm.

“Did you find everything alright?” Alfred asked. He took a few steps forward towards Matthew, blue eyes a deep contrast in color to the stark white towel and tan skin. “Hey, I’m glad those pants fit you! I just grabbed the smallest pair I own.”

Alfred had a six pack, roughly defined above the sloping V of his pelvic muscle that was visible above the cloth. Matthew was trying his damnest to not stare directly at that area as a whole, pursing his lips and clamping down on them. He was wearing Alfred’s pants, pants he was now praying were billowy enough to hide him.

He made a strained humming noise as a response and could swear he felt part of his soul leave his body as Alfred gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“Okay, well, goodnight dude.” Alfred said. He pulled his hand back and made his way down the hallway, and Matthew turned to watch him. The towel was much less covering in the back, and he watched as Alfred once again paused to throw a glance back from the bedroom doorway.

“Hey,” He said, voice soft in the quiet hallway. “You up for getting breakfast with me tomorrow?”

“Sounds great.” Matthew answered, voice cracking. “Goodnight, Alfred.”

“Night!”

  
The bedroom door shut behind him with a bang. Water was beading itself around Matthew’s fingers as the ice water heated up in the warm hallway, a reminder that he should probably move at some point. Once the feeling in his legs returned and he felt less like jello, Matthew wandered back the the guest room and shut the door behind him; lights off and water abandoned on the bedstand in favor of the bed covers.

He’d tried to sleep- he really had- but the haziness of the alcohol in his head still and the image of Alfred post shower lingered in his mind. Now it was time to focus on just being quiet more than anything; he had no idea how thin the walls might be.

His fingers tugged at the dark purple sheets as half an hour later, Alfred’s name was moaned into the crook of his arm.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

_“You have three new voicemails.”_

Hocking a loogie, Alfred watched the water flush it down the drain as the tinny voice played.

_“First unheard voicemail: Heeeeeey, Jonesy, it’s Goreski. You’re gonna love this, remember Ludwig’s husband? The weird italian guy who doesn’t look like he could bench press a dead bird? Well I met his older sister today, she’s really a charmer. Hot as shit though, and real fuckin’ feisty, so look into it. I’m sure if anyone could charm their way into-”_

Alfred pressed delete and skipped to the next message.

_“Mornin’ daddy! I’m really sorry for calling you so early, but I wanted to ask if it would be okay to go camping with Amy soon and to let you know that I got to school safely. See you later!”_

He yawned, popped his jaw, wandered out to the dining room, then stopped in his tracks.  
  
Instead of finding a room laden with empty bottles and take-out trash like they'd left it, the room was practically spotless. The couch had been pulled back together and blanket tucked in around the corners, coffee table reorganized neatly like it had been before they’d covered it in food.

“Matthew?” He called out.

“In the kitchen!”

_“This is a message from Penn Memorial Hospital for Alfred Fredrick Jones.”_

Matthew sat at the kitchen table, thumbing through an old magazine. He looked up when Alfred walked into the room and nodded when the older man pressed a finger to his lips. Dressed in the same clothing he had been last night, Matthew’s jacket and sweatshirt were crumpled together in a wrinkled heap on the table top.

 _“Alfred, this is Kyle. We got your test results back; please come in as soon as possible. It’s nothing major, but we need to talk.”_ The person on the other line shuffled around; someone coughed right outside of the receiver. _“Father wants to talk to you too.”_

“Good morning,” Alfred said, ending the voicemail. “Sleep well?”

Matthew smiled and stood up. The chair under him squeaked against the hardwood as he did so, the sound making them both wince. “Sorry! And I suppose so- did you?”

“Decent enough. I probably should’ve gone easier on the drinks last night, honestly. Do you have a hangover too, or am I just losing my touch?” He responded, opening a cupboard to fish through it’s content.

“It’s not just you, promise.” Matthew chuckled, “I think my nerves got the best of me last night. Do you have any-”

“Ibuprofen?” Alfred finished for him, and Matthew floundered to catch the plastic bottle tossed his way. “One step ahead of you, man.”

The bottle arched from Alfred’s hand and rolled off the tips of Matthew’s fingers. It barely bounced once before the cap popped off, a little wave of red pills scattering out around his feet in a million directions. Matthew felt a few press into his knees as he dropped down to scoop them up, swiping his hands across the floor.

“Crap, Madeline must’ve left the cap loose last time,” The older man said, “Lemme grab a broom real quick.”

Matthew flattened himself to reach under a counter, swiping little pills and dust bunnies his way. He accepted the brush Alfred handed to him and shifted to make room for him when he kneeled down next to Matthew, dustpan in his hand.

“Too bad we can’t rinse them off,” Alfred remarked as Matthew swept up a gross handful, “That was a waste of a few bucks.”

Making a humming noise in response, Matthew ignored the scrape of Alfred’s denim covered knee on the back of his hand. He passed over the brush with one last scoopful of pills and straightened up, holding out the handle to the brush.

They were the same height when kneeling, Matthew’s eyes meeting Alfred’s as he looked up and felt a wave of lightheadedness pass through him. Alfred was saying something that he missed (But he didn’t miss how Alfred’s eyes crinkled in the corner when he smiled, how had he missed that before, that’s a great character trait he should really write that down) but he felt when Alfred’s hand ghosted over his own, tugging the brush from his grip.

“Mattie?” Alfred said, and Matthew wasn’t sure of how many times now he’d repeated it. “Hey, there you are! You’re still pretty out of it from last night, huh?”

He laughed when Matthew blinked in response and relinquished his grip on the brush handle. “Oh, I, I guess so. Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine, don’t apologize. I you probably just got a bit of a head rush from getting up too fast.” He responded, pulling himself up with the counter’s edge. He held his free hand out to Matthew, who took it gratefully. “Let’s go get some food in you, okay? Do you want anything in particular?”

Matthew wiped the dust off his knees and smiled as Alfred emptied the dustpan into the trash, pills rattling down into the trash bag. “Pancakes, please. They’re my favorite.”

“Yeah? You should’a told me last night, Matthew,” Alfred said, “I’ve got wicked pancake making skills.”

* * *

 

“This is it here?” Alfred had asked, leaning over his steering wheel to peer out the windshield better. To get a better glance as the almost frat-house looking dorm extension that Matthew had pointed to.

It had been the sort of question that made Matthew want to crawl under a rock and hide; not that walking into his dorm common room would be much better than that, it was in desperate need of a repainting. He’d gotten out of Alfred’s car and instantly stepped in a puddle (missed the way Alfred laughed as he hopped about), made his way across the lawn, tiptoed around a guy with an accoustic guitar and-

“Our baby is growing up, Gilbert!” Eliza squealed as seconds later, Matthew was blinded by the flash of her camera. “One night stands, I’m so proud.”

He hadn’t even gotten through the door frame and yet he was already disoriented, enough of his hangover lingering that made Eliza’s voice obnoxiously loud in his head. It was impressive how she went from serious and dignified young woman one moment to a frat-boy mentality a split-second later, and Matthew winced when she gave him a shoulder bump.

“For the love of god, _Maus,”_ Gilbert responded, sliding off of his perch on the kitchen counter, “Tell us next time you decide to be awesome and get laid. I’ve got goodie bags you coulda taken with you; Condoms, lube, the usual.”

Sliding an arm over Matthew’s shoulder, Gilbert walked him into the common room. It was so _different_ than Alfred’s; wild colors and tie-dye and Gilbert’s psychedelic posters with crazy German writing, like walking into someone else’s brain. Matthew’s section was clearly shoved away in his room, contained from leaking out and merging with the others.

“Looks like I missed quite the party last night,” Matthew said, taking in the amount of red solo cups and used ashtrays around the room. Various levels of golden liquid all across the room made the whole place smell foul and sour and Matthew crinkled his nose at it.

“Fuck yeah you did, this place was crazy,” Gilbert babbled, throwing himself onto the nearest armchair, “Did you know that that one classical music guy could do shots? He started out with white wine but ended with fireballs. It was… certainly something.”

Eliza dropped into the couch and pulled Matthew down with her, crossing her legs. That green sundress was deceiving. “Enough about us, what about you? Who’s the lucky boy, Matthew?”

She was playful and teasing, hiding her knowing smirk behind a dainty hand. _Blue-eyed boy,_ she mouthed at him, raising an eyebrow and winking like she already knew the answer.

“I actually didn’t,” Matthew started, rubbing the back of his neck as he shifted his weight, “I didn’t hook up with anyone last night. We just hung out and got coffee.”

Eliza rolled her eyes as Gilbert let out a barking laugh, kicking his feet up and knocking over a cup. He pulled one arm off from the back of the couch and held it out Eliza, pinching his fingers together.

“Pay up, buttercup.”

* * *

 

“Do you like it?” The woman said as she pulled the back of her hospital gown apart for Alfred, “I got it done for my thirtieth in Cabo! The tattoo artist only charged me half price because I offered to-”

“It’s a fine looking tattoo, very… classy.” Alfred said, leaning as far away from the woman as he possibly could in the waiting room. “High quality.”

“Thanks! My ex-boyfriend picked it out for me, it was supposed to be lower but-”

The moment Kyle’s sandy head popped into the waiting room, Alfred hopped up. His brother gave him a strange look and nodded at the lady to his immediate left; Alfred just responded with a grimace. He was trapped between the woman and a set of wheelchairs, crowded into his seat.

“Right, Mr.Jones, this way please.” Came the accented voice, giving Alfred a reason to push himself towards the door.

“Wait, but I didn’t show you the boob one yet!” The woman called. Alfred secured a grip on Kyle’s elbow and practically wretched him into the hallway.

Kyle was taller but Alfred was broader, their combined limbs resulting in more of mashing together than a hug. The taller man hadn’t shaved in a while and his beard fuzz scratched Alfred’s neck- Alfred made sure to do his best to fake crush his ribs.

“Arvo, Al,” Kyle said with a slap to Alfred’s back, “Makin’ new friends out there?”

Alfred snorted into his brother’s neck. “Thanks.”

“Course, mate. Aight’, one, two, three-” He responded, their hug dissolving on the count of three. “Good break time, we’re getting better.”

The two fell into an easy pace, Kyle’s doctor’s coat fanning out behind them as they navigated through the hospital halls. He had a clipboard tucked under his arm, the papers fluttering in in their wake. “Speaking of better, I’m gonna take a wild shot in the dark and assume that I’m not dying?”

“Not yet, little bro, but your back ain’t getting any better. It’s nothing biggie, just a bit dodgy. We’ll probably stick ya to a physical therapist, but I wouldn’t sweat it. How’s my favorite niece doin’? She get my gift?” The doctor asked, interrupting Alfred everytime he opened his mouth.

“She got it and she loved it, Kyle. Great going with the animal books, I wouldn’t have thought of getting her those,” Alfred said, “Maybe avoid the ones with bugs in them if you get her any more of them. She didn’t like the sections on spiders very much, I had to remove those ones. What happened to your nose, did Wendy beat you up again?”

Turning down a nearly empty hallway, Kyle’s laugh was almost as loud as Alfred’s normally was. He brushed his hand over the band-aid strip covering his nose, a few shades too light for his tanned skin. “Lil’ shelia can throw quite the tantrum for a four year old. I bet you right now the girl is gonna grow up to play rugby, even Father thinks so.”

“Oh yeah? And how’s old pops doin’?” He asked, jamming his hands into his jean pockets. “Still got the stick lodged firmly up his ass?”

He didn’t need to see Kyle’s eye roll to know it happened. “Blimey, Al- don’t say that to his face.”

“Or what, he’ll ground me?” Alfred mocked. When Kyle didn’t laugh, Alfred stopped dead in his tracks. He flung an arm out and turned Kyle towards him; almost like he had done when they hugged, but much less friendly. “Oh my god, he’s dying isn’t he?”

Kyle blinked.

“What? No, Christ,” Kyle said, waving Alfred’s hands away. “Just keep walking, ya’ drama queen.”

He let his brother lead him down a twisty path, one that he didn't have memorized, but not unfamiliar. He recognized the big wooden door at the end of the hall from all the times he’d had to visit; all the times he’d been guilt tripped down to the hospital as a teen. Leaning against the wall, Alfred stuck his feet out into the hall- it was like he was a kid getting sent to the principle's office for misbehaving.

It was _shitty._

“Of course, sir,” Someone said on the other side of the door, “All right, we’ll catch up later, Arthur. Good seeing you too.”

When they walked out, Alfred pulled his feet in and caught the door before it swung shut, letting the sharp door edges press into his hand. It was like the _Chief of Medicine_ sign on the door was mocking him. He hesitated opening it more and ran his free hand through his hair; Father had always preferred it to be nicely combed.

He could hear someone typing on the other side, a few mouse clicks, then a very begrudging: “Are you just going to stand there all bloody day?”

His dad didn’t look up the moment Alfred walked in and left Kyle lingering in the hallway, giving Alfred a chance to get a good look over. He looked older, more worn, still a hardass but this time with gray patches in his hair. Little streaks of silver that started at his temples and melded their way into the yellow blond, offset by the heavy dark eyebrows.

Whatever was on the computer screen was clearly far more important, Arthur’s muted green eyes barely flickering over Alfred for a moment, drawing in his whole appearance. From Alfred’s bunny-eared shoes to the pressed trousers he wore especially for today, over the neatly tucked in shirt and buffering only slightly on the ruffled hair.

“You look tired, Alfred.” He said, eyes flitting back to the computer screen. “Why?”

“Haven’t been sleeping well.” Alfred responded.He tucked a loose bit of shirt. “I work late.”

“Sit.”

“I’d rather stand, thanks.”

“It wasn’t a question, Alfred.” Arthur said. He switched from typing to moving the mouse as Alfred pulled one of the grey chairs out, letting it noisily stutter against the floor. The same way Matthew had this morning in his kitchen, but neither of them winced this time around. Not even a glance.

He almost put his feet upon the desk (almost), but settled instead for slouching and loosely crossing his legs. Arthur ignored him.

On the desk, a little brown clock ticked away the seconds, the only spark of color across the silver top. White paper, black pens, one brown clock that drove Alfred insane. He looked at the wall behind his father; framed certificates, awards, a picture of Madeline’s school picture from the beginning of the year.

One very awkward family portrait in a solid black frame hung directly behind Arthur’s head, dust-free and oddly staged. Kyle was always taller than him even as a kid, the contrast more obvious in their school uniforms- little Alfred had a bandage on his knee that didn’t quite cover the whole scrape. They stood in unison with their hands behind their backs and one slobbery English Bulldog between their feet, the only smiling face in the photo. One of Arthur’s hands lingered on Alfred’s shoulder while Kyle had both of their mother’s hands on his; a stick straight family in front of their wrought-iron gate.

“Well this is just boatloads of fun. I could do this all day, Pops.” Alfred drawled, popping his back in the chair.

“Just hold off the snark, Alfred, I’ll be done in a moment.”

Alfred yawned and covered it with the back of his hand. Did Matthew grab his sweatshirt on the way out this morning? Wrestling his phone out of his pocket, Alfred mentally prepared a text to shoot off to Matthew, stopping when he noticed the text notifications.

_Matthew W.: Thanks for letting me stay over last night. And letting me borrow some clothes. And driving me home and getting me breakfast. It was really nice of you and out of your way, I just don’t think I left you with a good enough thank you. Maybe when you’re free in the next few days, we could go out for coffee or something?_

_Matthew W.: My roommates are being snoopy and gross._

_Matthew W.: Shoot! I forgot my sweatshirt on your kitchen table, I’m sorry! Guess you’ll have to see me again now : /_

With a soft smile and a stomach flip, Alfred typed in a response.

_Alfred: Sounds great, Mattie! I’d love to go out for coffee again. You can pay this time, make sure your friends know I’m not your sugar daddy. I could bring your sweatshirt to my work tomorrow, if you want to pick it up then._

The reply was almost instantaneous.

_Matthew W.: Sounds great, see you then. : )_

For a second he considered sending an emoji back- was he too old for that? Would it be weird?

_Alfred: :D_

“If you don’t mind,” Arthur coughed, startling Alfred. “But I do have a schedule to keep and watching you flirt isn’t a part of it.”

“Sorry, Sir.” Alfred responded, his face flushing pink. “I wasn’t flirting anyways, just talking to a friend.”

“Surely,” The printer in the corner booted up, “The same way Natalia was ‘A Friend’?”

Stuffing his phone away, Alfred scowled. “Sir, that’s not-”

“-What I called you here for today.” Arthur finished, cutting him off as his eyebrows furrowed. “I know.”

Swiveling around in his desk chair, he swept up a small stack of papers the printer produced. His medical coat hung off the back of his chair and practically flew like a cape as he turned to staple the papers, and Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose.

When he spun back around he placed the papers face down so Alfred couldn’t see, and let out a strained breath. He drew himself up in the chair to meet Alfred’s slouched height and folded his hands over the paper.

“Nice manicure,” Alfred remarked, “You and Mom finally bonding?”

He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy the way his father’s posture crumbled.

“No, she’s on vacation at the moment, if you must know. Skiing in the alps with those dreadful women she calls friends. But this is important, Alfred, and I need you to answer truthfully.” Arthur said gravely, leaning forward in his seat. “Are you feeling okay?”

Alfred shrugged in a response, and Arthur pressed his eyes shut.

“I need an answer more descriptive than a bloody shrug.”

“My back hurts a bit, but it’s nothing major. Just a minor sprain like Kyle said.” Alfred said. He kicked at the bottom of the desk waiting for reply, glancing up when he didn’t get one. “Right?”

Arthur was staring at him and Alfred could see the way his shoulders tensed, the same way his own tensed when he looked at his budget.

“It is just a strain, right?” Alfred asked. “Dad?”

* * *

 

“Granola parfait, please,” Matthew requested, pulling out a crumpled bill, “And two water bottles.”

The school cafeteria was gross and loud, and Matthew could name any number of places he’d rather be at the moment than standing in the food line. Maybe the lady behind the counter felt the same, judging by how she wrestled the bottles from their box.

“Will that be all?”

At least it was better than being trapped in the house with Gilbert, Eliza, and their onslaught of questions he didn’t quite know how to answer.

_“So you didn’t bang him? Why not?”_

_“Blue-eyed boy? When’d this shit happen?”_

_“Can we see what he looks like?”_

_“Is he as awesome as me?”_

_“Does he like Paprikash?”_

“Yes, thank you.”

The cafeteria was nowhere as nice as the little breakfast bistro he and Alfred had gone to that morning that had served him maple infused pancakes. Alfred had loved the eggs benedict he’d ordered; Matthew had wondered if he should add that to his need-to-learn list. Not that he’d ever be making it for Alfred, it just seemed like a good skill to have.

Gathering his array of parfait and water bottles, Matthew clutched them to his chest as he wandered over to his seat. Ned looked at him as he sat down and took a water bottle, but said nothing.

“So,” Matthew started, “What do you think?”

Ned looked at him as he broke the seal on one of the bottles. “I think… there is an age difference.”

“Well, yeah, but what do you think about it? What is your opinion on it?”

Matthew slid the parfait across the tiny table to Ned, holding out the plastic spoon. He’d come to the older Dutch student for ‘help with a new book plot’. It wasn’t a complete lie, not really, he really did have a new book on the table and could use a few look overs of the general plot, but-

“I think it’s a good plot,” Ned said, “I like the age difference.”

Matthew looked up at him, pulling his water bottle down from his lips. “Really?”

Ned nodded. “What made you think of it?”

“A guy I know.” He felt his face flush and squeezed his water bottle, smiling when Ned raised an eyebrow. “He’d a bit older than me but I thought it’d be interesting to consider- I’ve never written anything with a significant age gap before.”

Ned made a sound of reply. “It’s not that big of an age difference. Eight years; at least it’s in the single digits.”

“True,” Matthew said, “And it’s just an idea.”

One very, very cute idea whose butt looked great in skinny jeans and flannel.

“You’ve never written a story with a child involved, either.” Ned continued, a spoonful of yogurt hovering near his mouth. “Hm?”

Water dribbled down Matthew’s chin and he wiped it away with his shirt sleeve, letting his wrist linger for a moment too long. “I just… wanted to add some variety, that’s all. You can only rewrite the same plot so many times, you know? And it’s always good to look for ideas everywhere, to gather inspiration from all walks in life, something like that.”

A woman at the table next to them was scribbling down notes and shoving handfuls of dry cereal into her mouth, crumbs bouncing down into her lap.

“There’s only so many ways one can write about dicks and porn, Matthew.”

The woman made a strangled sound and shot them both a scandalized look, the rough cereal edges pressing little peaks into her cheeks.

“You’re taking this very out of context.” Matthew explained with a nervous chuckle.

He muttered an apology to the woman as she scooped her books up and threw her bag over her shoulder, leaving her now vacant spot full of crumbs. She missed it and Matthew followed her hair bun bobble with his eyes as she settled down across the room.

“Does this guy friend you have,” Ned said, pushing a piece of strawberry around with the spoon, “Have any children?”

Matthew let a small smile cross his face before he ran a hand over his neck. “Just one.”

He glanced at Ned and waited for a reply, getting a simple spoon wave in reply.

* * *

 

“Hey, sweetie, how was school?” Alfred said later that evening as Madeline threw herself into the passenger seat. Her customized book bag bounced into the back as she slung it behind the seat, the pink ruffles out of place against the grey seat lining. “Did you learn any cool crap?”

“Dinosaurs were probably fluffy and looked like giant chickens,” She responded, “But I only know that because I looked it up on Amelia’s laptop.”

He snorted as they pulled away from Amelia’s home and Madeline clicked her belt in. “So you haven’t discovered a new element yet?”

“Not yet, nope.”

“Dang, then it seems I bought a whole tub of fudge ice cream for nothing.”

“Seems like it.”

When they pulled up at their first stop sign, Alfred took the brief pause to lean over and plant a kiss on her head. When he sat normally again he spluttered for a moment, very confused when a sprinkle of glitter flew off and landed on his hand. The question hadn’t even left his mouth before Madeline had answered it.

“Amy wanted to do glitter roots, it’s a new hairstyle and it’s dumb.” She said, swiping at her bangs to dislodge any rogue glitter bits. “I told her I didn’t want to.”

“Well that’s…” He started, swallowing his negative tone before he finished. “Will this junk clog up the drain?”

“It might, I dunno.”

“Dandy. Anyways, I was thinking we order one of those fancy pizzas you like and watch a movie tonight, what’da ya say?”

It was a short drive home, and Alfred wasn’t quite ready to get out yet. Not when he was finally getting some quality time with his favorite person in the world instead of an old British man. He let the car stall instead and turned towards his daughter, picking another fleck of color off of the pale blonde.

“Sounds great, Daddy!” She said, her’s and Amelia’s plans settling in the back of her head. All she had to do was get them in the same place at the same time and hope that the universe would pull the rest of it together for her. “What if we invited Matthew to join us?”

“Invited Matth- what?” Alfred asked, a little surprised. He pulled back and pulled out the keys, letting the engine die. “Why would we invite Matthew to join us?”

“Oh, well, I just,” Madeline started, “You guys got along pretty well at the diner and stuff, I was thinking you two could hang out and… _stuff.”_

Not for the first time when it came to Madeline, Alfred was at a loss for words. Madeline was smart, a genius in his eyes, always one step ahead in her thinking. Or at least far enough ahead in her sentences to not use the word ‘Stuff’ twice in a row.

He opened his mouth and shut it, something between a hot burst of air and a chuckle coming out. “What’s ‘And stuff’ mean there?”

“It just means, you know, ‘stuff’. Nothing in particular, Dad.” She huffed, tugging at her seat belt.

“Oh, oh, I see now, stuff. Stuffy, stuffy, little girl stuff.” Alfred mocked as he got out of the car, opening up the back to get her bag. “Really important stuff.”

“No, Dad, like we could hang out and-”

“Stuff?”

“ _Ugh._ Just hand me my things, Dad.”

“I think you mean your stuff, sweetheart.”

She let out a very exasperated sigh and stomped her way up the outside stairs, leaving Alfred with her embroidered bag swinging from his hand. When the door slammed shut behind her he laughed and took the steps two at a time, fitting her bag over his shoulders.

“Does this mean you don’t want pizza tonight?” Alfred yelled when he entered the house, kicking his shoes off next to Madeline’s and dumping her bag next to his own.

“No!” She yelled from the kitchen, showing up a second later. “We should still get pizza. But you should really invite-”

“Not happening, buggy.” He replied shortly. “It’s gotta just be me and you tonight. Quality time.”

He ruffled her hair as he passed her by, making a beeline for the kitchen drawer with the take-out menus jammed into it. He yanked it open, the Thai menu still layered on top after last night’s dinner with Matthew. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have Matthew over for dinner again soon, it was nice having someone to kick back with that didn’t want to talk boobs or his questionable life choices.

Matthew was comforting, a warm person that made Alfred’s head feel like it was up in the clouds. He could definitely imagine spending more time with him, made a mental note to text Matthew about coffee meeting times. Maybe he could finish Matthew’s book before then; he hadn't read a word since the kissing part, and the thought of it made his chest tighten.

“Oh.” Madeline said distantly, startling Alfred away from the menu. “Quality time?”

Switching the menus out quickly and hip checking the drawer shut, Alfred handed the pizza menu off to his daughter.

“Yeah, I got something I gotta tell you, sweetie. But let’s order first, alright? What kinda soda do you want?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who has read this story so far and thank you so much for all the sweet comments!!! I'm so sorry I took so long to update this chapter, I've had finals and life and I'm recovering from a recent car crash I was in, so everything has just been pretty hectic lately. Sidenote: I didn't have anyone to proof read this chapter beforehand, so sorry if there's anything wrong with it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry to keep you guys waiting!! But just another quick thank you to all of you for 1. Sticking around even though this update has taken forever and 2. All the wonderful comments I've been getting! <3

It’s hot; hot enough in his room that he can’t sleep and it makes him feel sick. The sheets cling to his skin as he rolls out of his bed, dragging along behind him when he stands. They crumple to the floor when he pulls on a pair of boxer shorts and wedges the window open- better to be cold and under blankets than hot with no layers.

The entire house is quiet and still with the exception of the curtains now blowing in the breeze. It’s calming now, but it would’ve been terrifying to him a decade ago.

Covering his eyes as he flicked on the kitchen light, Alfred navigated the kitchen with his eyes shut tight. It was far too early for him to be up, the oven clock showing that it was barely a tad bit past five in the morning. The only other people awake in the world right now were security guards and college kids, ones who either partied or studied.

He yanked a mug from the cupboard and slammed it onto the counter next to the coffee maker, nearly smashing the bottom of the mug in. Jammed a single serve coffee cup into the top and poured the water in, not caring if it was too hot to begin with.

He was awake and ticked off because of it; might as well get started early.

The coffee pot grumbled as Alfred picked up a package off the kitchen and almost took a vase of dried flowers with him, dumping the squishy tube onto the counter. He grabbed the scissors from the knife block and in one, swift movement, sliced through the plastic wrap like it had personally victimized him.

The yoga mat was dark blue; supposedly calming, according to the woman at the fitness store. A shorter mat was still sitting on the table as Alfred got his coffee together, a purple one that didn’t fit into the plastic bag it was shoved into.

Alfred didn’t care if _he_ was awake, but there was no way he’d willingly wake his daughter up so early. He only did that when it was completely needed; because sweet little heaven-on-earth angel she was during the day, Madeline was _mean_ in the morning.

He grabbed a pop tart and then promptly shoved it away- Was he allowed to eat before he did yoga? Was that a thing? Could you do yoga and eat at the same time? Was there some kind of unspoken yoga-eating rule?

“Too fucking early for this.” He grumbled, taking his yoga mat and coffee into the living room.

Turning the tv on with a little more spite than he should’ve, Alfred dropped to the ground with his mat.

Burnt his tongue on his coffee the same moment he realized he forgot creamer.

_“Welcome back, everyone, and thanks for tuning into this week’s yoga video. This week we’re going back to basics with some exercises that everyone with lower back pain should know. Now I’m not going to go too into detail about the causes of back pain because there’s so many reasons for it, but these exercises are designed to help ease the stress we personally place on our spine. Remember, yoga has always got your back.”_

Alfred grimaced when the woman made little finger guns and beamed. It was too early for that, too.

_“Alright, for today’s exercises we’re going to start on our backs, and just take your time getting there, no need to rush.”_

Immediately, he belly flopped down onto the mat and rolled over.

_“Remember to breathe, let the relaxation flow through you as you bring your hands to your ribs and your feet to the outer edges of your mat. Now slowly tuck your pelvis so there’s space between your back and the mat, stretching your muscles and rolling your shoulder blades. This will help to work out that tension later on.”_

He was doing the best he could, twisting his head at a weird angle to see the woman up on the screen.

_“I know a lot of you are probably new and eager to get into some of the more advanced moves, however, we need to work at a slow pace. Remember, it’s not worth getting to the exciting moves if you don’t work through the basics first, and breathing is the most important thing in yoga. Now we’re going to take a minute to close our eyes and just hold this position, let the natural flow of your breath take control. I’m going to go over some slow breathing motions with you-”_

At that, Alfred let his legs slip out from under him with a thump, his hips smacking against the mat.

“So this is just a fancy video telling me how to sit on a mat and breathe?” He snapped.

“Daddy?”

The stairs creaked under her bare feet as Madeline rubbed her eyes, watching the woman on screen. Madeline’s hair was frizzy and poking out of her braids, bed lines imprinted on her skin in weird patterns.

“Oh,” Alfred said, sitting up and facing her, “I’m sorry, sweetie, did I wake you up?”

She nodded, making her way down the rest of the stairs. Plopping crisscross down on the carpet next to her dad, the edges of her oversized T-shirt pooled around her. The light from the tv was a harsh blue and white against her pale, scrunched up face.“I thought we weren’t gonna start this until morning?”

“Well, technically, it is morning.” He smirked, pushing one of her braids behind her shoulder. She swatted back. “You can go back to sleep if you want.”

“M-mh. I wanna do this with you.” She said in a yawn, wiping a sleep tear from her eye. “What is she even doing, anyways? I’ looks dumb.””

They turned to look at the screen, just in time to see the woman stick both legs in the air and roll her hips.

“She’s, uh,” Alfred said, “Fancy breathing, I think.”

“Oh. Sounds interesting.” She replied blankly.

On screen the woman turned to look at them and pulled herself into a sitting position, pulling her hands above her head. She was smiling, soundless words coming out of her mouth as Alfred mutted the screen.

“I want Lucky Charms.” Madeline blurted out, not looking away from the screen.

“Me too.” Alfred replied.

* * *

 

He didn’t _mean_ to stalk Alfred’s facebook, it just kind of… happened. He’d stayed up late to finish an essay, finished earlier than he expected to and was left with plenty of excess caffeine in his system to keep him up. He’d toyed with the idea of going downstairs and getting food, but he could hear Elizaveta down the hall and chose the less awkward option.

Plus, his bed had so many layers that he felt like a toaster pastry.

Matthew flicked through the info he could find without sending a request out; mainly photos of Madeline through various ages and the occasional photo of food. The earliest one of the girl had to be of when she was about eight- She and Alfred in a cute selfie, her glasses making her eyes seem too big for her head and Alfred’s doing the same to his face.

Alfred didn’t have any family listed on his page besides Madeline, leaving off her last name so it was simply: ‘Madeline- _Daughter._ ’ He only had Movies listed in his interests, three of them specifically: _Zombieland, Independance Day_ , and a B-rate comedy Matthew had never heard of.

There was a different man in one of Alfred’s photos- a taller man with multiple cowlicks and freckles so thick they changed his skin tone. He had blazing green eyes and a smile to rival Alfred’s, gorgeous and laughing with his arm around Alfred’s shoulders to hold him close. The two of them looked happy, maybe a little sunburnt, a beautiful blue beach behind him that matched Alfred’s eyes.

He looked younger, glasses-less, a pair of red swimtrunks. The water made his skin glisen the same way it had when he’d gotten out of the shower; although Matthew didn’t get to see him up close and personal this time.

There was another photo of the two of them, with a younger Madeline between them, a shirt on over her wet swimsuit and a conch shell in her hands. Alfred was hugging her around the waist down on his knees, her blonde hair wavy from beach water and clinging to the both of them. The other man was standing behind them, one hand on each of their shoulders and mid-laugh, skin glowing in the sun above them.

A caption that read: _“Vacation and some much needed quality time!- with Kyle Kirkland._”

Matthew disliked him instantly.

Outside his room someone shuffled past, and Matthew flicked off his bedroom lamp. He pulled the covers up over his shoulders and around his neck- it was a mistake to leave his window open at night.

He scrolled down through Alfred’s wall with a flick of his thumb. There was an impressive friends list (More than Matthew’s, at least) and each photo had a wall of comments- none of them from people with the same last name as Alfred.

_“Gorgeous, Alfred! She’s got your smile for sure!”_

_“What a beautiful young lady, growing up so fast!”_

He skipped over the majority of them; just the same comments basically reworded each time. The screen went black on the phone and he dropped it against the bedstand with a yawn.

* * *

 

“Ok, and remember to-”

“Call you once I get to Amelia’s house.”

“And?”

Slowly inching the car door open, Madeline shrugged.

“Kick ass on your test, babygirl.” Alfred smiled. He leaned to push the door open for her all the way and handed off her backpack, watching her hair swing all the way to the front door of the school.

She turned to wave, as always, and Alfred waved back before pulling away from the curb. He reached into the back and threw a tied-up grocery bag into the passenger seat. The contents were neatly folded and smelled overwhelming like fabric softener, a little like Alfred had poured far too much into the washer for such a small load.

But it just smelled _so good_ , and Matthew’s sweater smelled so much like weed, it grossed Alfred out.

Pop music played from the car speakers all during the drive from the school to the college, only broken up by ads and cheesy jingles that stayed in his head all day. He swung into the lot near Matthew’s housing and stopped the sweatshirt from falling out of the seat when he hit a pothole.

“Stanley steemer gets your carpet cleaner!” He muttered, taking a swig of coffee from his travel mug.

He’d never actually gotten out of the car when he’d dropped Matthew off, trusting that this was the right house. The clothing bag swung from his fist and bounced as he tramped across the lawn and up the stairs rather loudly.

The front door had a place for a knocker, but no actual knocker. He knocked near the dark spots instead and turned to look out over the yard as he waited, kicking the mud and dirt off his heels. The yard was nothing special; green in some parts, dying in a few others, a damaged garden gnome with the paint peeling off half it’s face.

The campus itself was beautiful; brick buildings and gorgeous cobbled walkways, finely-maintained shrubbery that sported little red flowers. Maybe he could convince Madeline to apply here when she was older- somewhere close by, a decent science program, lots of places for her to sit and draw if she wanted to.

“Can I help you?”

Alfred turned around and came chest-to-face with Elizaveta, nearly smacking her with the clothing bag. She looked him up and down like she was inspecting him for pamphlets or clipboards, easing when Alfred held up his bag.

“Is this- Does Matthew live here?” Alfred asked. He took a step away from her, gaining some of his personal space back. “He left these at my house and I had to cancel on him coming to pick them up.”

Eliza’s whole expression changed from peeved and ready to fight to something more along the lines of surprise, leaning into Alfred’s space once again. She’d stopped looking him over and made direct eye contact, blinking before saying anything. It was like she wasn’t even looking _into_ his eyes but more of _at_ them, tilting her head to get a better angle of light.

“You’re here to see Matthew?” She asked, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “You drove all the way here to see him?”

“...Yeah?” Alfred guessed. It wasn’t like it was a long drive, maybe forty-five minutes at most.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my- Okay, just hang on for a moment, I’ll be right back!” She squealed, slamming the door shut before Alfred could protest.

There was a loud thunking sound inside the house, shuffling, a yell for someone named Gilbert, and a noise Alfred could only describe as the same sound Amelia made when she won a stuffed animal at the county fair. Kind of like an injured pig, but less terrified and more excited.

The door swung open again and Eliza threw open the screen door, narrowly avoiding hitting Alfred with it. “Please, come in, come in!”

She pulled Alfred in with an iron grip and he stumbled over the doorway, grabbing the bag to his chest. It wasn’t the cleanest of living rooms, the couch had some questionable spots on it and a particularly strange shaped lump covered with a blanket, but it wasn’t the worst he’d seen.

“Oh, oh, Gilbert!” Eliza said, wheeling Alfred around towards the kitchen. “Meet _Alfred_ , he’s here to see Matthew.”

She said his name like it was velvet and sultry, and Alfred was surprised she didn’t wiggle her eyebrows when she said it. It certainly got the attention of the man at the kitchen table, who looked up slowly. His expression melted from annoyance to nearly the same one Eliza had, but his eyes lingered over Alfred’s chest.

“Holy ballsacks, he’s hot,” Gilbert uttered, a can of Red Bull dangling from his fingers.

“Uh-” Alfred started.

“And doesn’t he have just the most gorgeous blue eyes?” Eliza added, and Alfred removed his arm from her gasp.

“Listen, is Matthew here? I really just need to give him his clothing back.” Alfred said, taking a wide step back from the girl.

“Right, of course, how dumb of me,” Eliza said, smiling and placing a hand to her chest. “His room is upstairs, the one with the purple door.”

Alfred nodded and turned away quickly, power walking out of the room with the clothing still clutched to his chest.

“Hey, babe?” Gilbert asked, pulling Eliza’s attention to himself. “I think you freaked him out.”

She sighed, but the soft smile didn’t leave her face. “Oh, probably. I just…”

Gilbert cocked an eyebrow and took a sip of his drink.

“I just want him and Matthew to have gay sex.” She said with a dreamy tone.

Red Bull sprayed all across the table.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Matthew stirred at the first knock and burrowed deeper in his bed as a response. Whoever it was could wait until later- he was having a _fantastic_ dream. His bed was soft and warm, the twinkling little fairy lights hung up on the walls around him and the curtains shut tight.

Another knock, this time louder and with more power behind it, and Matthew’s eyes unwillingly popped open. He let out a groan and pulled the covers down off his mouth just enough to let out a very agitated sounding: “What?”

“Matthew? Are you in there?” Came Alfred’s voice, “It’s me, Alfred!”

“Alfred?” Matthew asked, groggy. He sat up and let the blankets fall down around his waist.

“Yeah! I, uh, brought you your clothes that you left at my house, your sweatshirt and things.” Alfred replied. “I could just leave it out here if you want.”

“No, hang on!” Matthew said, pulling himself out of bed and grabbing for his glasses. He needed pants, pants were a definite thing he needed before seeing Alfred. “I’ll be just a sec!”

Sweatpants would have to do as Matthew pulled them on, struggling to hop on one foot as he did. He barely got the knot tied around his waist before he opened the door, coming nearly face to face with the slightly taller man.

“Hey there.” Matthew said, regretting not shoving a mint into his mouth. Alfred seemed relieved to see him, and Matthew regretted not shoving a shirt on as well.

“Hey yourself. Here’s your clothes,” Alfred said as he handed over the bag, “Sorry they smell overwhelmingly like Lavender.”

“No, no, that’s great! Lavender is great, it’s great, it’s just really…” Matthew struggled, taking the bag and smiling nervously. He couldn’t believe Alfred was standing right there in his hallway, hair slightly mussed and smirking. “Great.”

Well, that was lame.

Alfred looked around awkwardly and bit on his lips, drumming his hands against his thighs. Matthew just stared at him blankly for a moment, taking him all in like he’d never seen Alfred before.

“Oh, uh, feel free to come in!” Matthew stuttered, moving away from the door and making a beeline for the closet. “I’ll just hang this up. You can sit wherever you want. The desk chair, the bed, wherever.”

He tried not to feel grateful that Alfred chose the desk chair.

Alfred surveyed the room while Matthew hung up his sweatshirt, looking anywhere but at Matthew’s bare back and the way his shoulder blades stuck out as he moved.

If there was one thing for certain that Matthew was good at, it was somehow blocking out as much sunlight as possible. It felt like night in his room, and Alfred would’ve been convinced it was if he hadn’t just been out in the sun.

There were delicate fairy lights hanging in the corner above Matthew’s bed that made everything seem warm and glowy, even Matthew’s unmade bed and squished pillows. Every single surface was covered in paper and notes, not unlike Alfred’s kitchen and dining tables, all of them related to either personal writing or school writing. Yellow legal pads stacked with notebooks, whole shelves full of books Alfred had never heard of let alone read, and the distinct smell of pine danced across the room.

He pulled one of the books off the shelves, flipping it open and flying through the pages. It was a heavy book, and Alfred hovered on an interesting looking passage in the middle, standing still and engrossed.

“That’s _Les Miserables_ , in the original French.” Alfred heard Matthew say behind him, “I got it in my Freshman year.”

“Ah,” Alfred said, closing the book and sliding it back onto the shelf. “So that’s why it looks all gibberish.”

At that Matthew laughed. “It’s really not gibberish, I swear.”

“You know French?”

“Fluently, actually. I took it all during high school and my first years of college.” He said, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “I even did a semester abroad during my sophomore year, down in Bordeaux.”

Alfred smiled and nodded his head, sheepishly running a hand through his hair. “I have no clue where that is.”

Matthew chuckled and proceeded to cross over to the other side of the room. Alfred followed as Matthew pulled a little globe down from an upper shelf, spinning it around until he found France. He pointed at the tiny blue country, one slender finger running over the embossed mountains.

“It’s right there,” He explained, holding the globe out to Alfred. “It’s not big enough to have it’s name displayed on here, but it’s in that little crevice.”

“There?” He asked, pointing at a spot a little above where Matthew’s finger was. He got a smile in response.

“Just about, yeah. Absolutely beautiful, like nothing you’d ever believe.” Matthew added. He placed the globe back on the shelf and pulled down a book that had been sitting next to it. “I hope to go back one day, but I’m so busy with my writing and school, I just don’t have any way of taking a semester off.”

Matthew turned and settled down on the edge of his bed again, patting the spot next to him.

“Here’s a photo of me in front of _Place de la Bourse_ ,” He said, “The Royal Palace.”

The bed squeaked when Alfred sat down and Matthew sank in his direction, his shoulder leaning against Alfred’s arm.

“Ah, sorry!” He squirmed, adjusting himself.

“Don’t worry about it, dude,” Alfred reassured him, pulling the photobook over both of their laps. “I can see it better this way anyways.”

In the picture, a small version of Matthew was waving up at them, a shy grin on his face. He looked happy, with the sun in his hair and bundled up in his sweatshirt against the fountain backdrop, beautiful arcs of water shining behind him. Alfred could almost place himself in the photo; the whole thing was so picturesque it looked like something out of a dream.

“This is such a cute photo of you,” Alfred absentmindedly said, leaning over to get a better look at it. “Did you take it yourself?”

“No, I, uh,” Matthew began, his fingers curling against the opposing picture. Alfred twisted to look up at him, saddened to see how Matthew’s face had gone from happy to withdrawn.

“I had an ex-boyfriend of mine take it.” He muttered, looking off to the side. “He thought it was a dumb, cheesy photo to take.”

Alfred straightened up. “Well he was dumb then.”

“Huh?” Matthew asked, brows furrowing.

“He was really dumb,” Alfred clarified, “Because Matthew, you look stunning in this photo.”

He felt like he was made of air; like some kind of whipped, fluffy consistency instead of his actual body.

Alfred had called him stunning with zero hesitation, zero double take or a sudden need to say “No homo though.” He had said it with such sincerity that Matthew was frozen for a moment, his brain taking it’s own sweet time to process the information.

Then it hit him- for the second time in Alfred’s presence, Matthew became very aware of his body. He was shirtless and dressed solely in a pair of plaid pajama pants, practically leaning against Alfred with his whole body. They touched at the thighs, their arms, even the back of their hands brushed against each other, and neither of them had yet to move away from each other.

Alfred was like a heater in Matthew’s cold room, a practical human furnance. Matthew made a bold move (in his opinion) and leaned his head against Alfred’s shoulder, letting it settle there and snuggle in when Alfred didn’t move away.

“Can I look through the rest of these?” Alfred asked.

Matthew nodded and flipped to the first page for him, where a picture of himself and Amelia lay behind a plastic film. Matthew was squatting down to her height and she was clearly younger, given that she now came up to Matthew’s shoulders. He was decked out in a backpack and a multitude of suitcases surrounding them both, Amelia sporting a little peace sign and a longer haircut.   
“That was taken at the airport the day I left,” He explained, tugging the photo out for Alfred to look at closer, “The whole family came to say goodbye to me.”

“That’s so sweet of them, God I forgot all about Amy’s old hair. Man, remember when she dyed it pink herself with those markers?” Alfred laughed, slipping the photo back into it’s sleeve. “Madeline was so jealous of her, begged me to let her dye her hair purple.”

“Thank goodness you didn’t,” Matthew replied, “Mom was so angry at her when it all washed out in the shower and stained the tub. She made her scrub it until it was white again, now she claims that she’s allergic to cleaning.”

Alfred snorted and flipped a page. “You know, the other day, she sent Madeline home with ‘Glitter Roots’ or some shit. Clogged the drains to hell and back, like some kind of glitter demon broke in and personally attacked the bathroom. I’m still finding glitter in places.”

“Good to know she’s spreading her hair habits to Madeline, if my family has to suffer, so does yours.” He joked. “Oh, that one there is when I first landed, I thought the airport was so pretty.”

“It definitely is.” Alfred said, pausing for a brief period every photo. Matthew had written little blurbs on the back of them all, and Alfred pulled each one out to examine it.

It was hypnotizing to Matthew, watching Alfred sift through the photos and make to occasional funny comment or mention how pretty a certain landscape was. He didn’t know when he shut his eyes and just started listening to Alfred, or when he stopped doing even that and started dozing instead.

“Matthew?” Alfred asked, finally noticing when Matthew had stopped responding to his comments. “Mattie?”

“Hmm?” Matthew drowsily hummed.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, bro,” Alfred chuckled, “I have bony shoulders.”

Shutting the photo book and placing it to the side, Alfred turned his attention to Matthew. He gently lifted Matthew’s chin and got him to open his eyes, smiling when Matthew looked at him.

“Sorry,” Matthew stifled a yawn, “My room is really cold and you’re really warm.”

“Don’t worry about it, but I think I’d better be heading out.”

They were fairly close, only a few inches, and Alfred caught every motion in Matthew’s face from when he opened his mouth to say something, and the deep inhale he took but didn’t need.

“Oh.”

“Hey, you’ve got, a, uh,” Alfred said, gesturing towards his hair. When Matthew just look confused, Alfred continued; “Here, I’ll get it for you.”

Alfred shifted to brush a piece of comforter lint from Matthew’s hair, lingering a little too long on a strand. He looked from his palm to Matthew’s eyes, then back to his palm before balling up the lint and flicking it away.

Matthew stared at Alfred’s lips like he was studying them, flickering between them and the blue eyes above them. The way he shifted closer to Alfred was subconscious, but slowing his breathing and making it shallow wasn’t. Neither was the way he slightly arched his neck and let his lips part, worrying the inside of his bottom one.

“Matthew,” Alfred murmured, “I have to go.”

Matthew didn’t move, nor did Alfred.

“Then go.” He whispered back.

Alfred had never even thought of Matthew in this way- Well, that was a lie, but a very well-intentioned one to himself.

“Did they kiss yet?” Came a very hushed, irritated whisper from the hallway, sneaking in from the ajar door.

“I dunno, you look this time.” Was the response, in Eliza’s voice.

Both of them moved at once to look at the door, just in time to see Gilbert’s head pop into the frame. He disappeared seconds later followed by loud scuffling sounds, the recognizable sound of two sets of feet sprinting down the hallway.

“Right, so then,” Alfred blurted, turning away from Matthew completely, “I have groceries and things, stuff to buy, you know how it goes.”

He flushed from head to toe and stood up so fast that Matthew nearly fell over in his absence.

“Right, of course, yeah,” Matthew stammered, standing up as well, “Go, uh, do the things. Say hi to Madeline for me.”

“Cool, I will.” Alfred said, backing towards the door. “I’ll, um, see you around then, Mattie.”

“Yeah, alright, drive safe then.” Matthew said. “Bye, Alfred.”   
“Yeah, see you later.”

Once Alfred had left his room and the sound of his footsteps had disappeared down the hallway (rather fast), Matthew let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. He slammed the door shut with much more force than needed, promptly face planted onto his bed, and yelled into his comforter.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Alfred had sped all the way home like a bat out of hell, nearly missing his own turn off the freeway.

Now at home, he paced across the kitchen floor, having thrown his shoes off in a disarray. He couldn’t keep his hands in one place, running them through his hair, then folding them against each other, or shoving them into his back pockets. Nevermind the pacing, Alfred felt jittery, like he’d downed a whole liter of coffee and wasn’t able to keep his hands in one place for long.

It’d been a mistake to bring Matthew’s sweatshirt over to him at home, he should have just rescheduled to meet him at another restaurant or coffee place. He should’ve sat down in the desk chair- should have just given him the sweater and _gone_ , a simple “Hey Matthew, here’s your sweater back.” Would have sufficed.

“No, no, you had to go INTO his room, didn’t you? Dumbass.” Alfred said to the empty kitchen. “Sit down next to him, _on his bed_ , ‘Oh, hoho, show me all your vacation photos, Mattie!’ Dear God, what was I thinking?”

Nervous pacing was a bad habit of his, always had been. But he had to be up and going, working with his thoughts instead of sitting down and letting them wash all over him, consume him until he couldn’t think.

“Ok, ok, I just need to calm down.” He said, pausing in his pacing to lean against the counter. The toaster showed him his own, distorted reflection and he sighed, burying his hands in his hair. “I’m not gay.”

When he looked up again he made contact with his blurry reflected eyes and blinked, letting out another painful sounding sigh.

“Alright, maybe I’m a _little_ gay.” He reasoned.

The toaster didn’t respond.

“Maybe Matthew is a witch?”

Alfred groaned.

“Ok, that’s- that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever said, holy shit.”

He went on to stare at himself in the toaster for a few moments before tearing himself away from the counter like it had burned him. Yanking a kitchen chair away from the table, Alfred created a flurry of papers when he sat down and rifled through them, retrieving a yellow legal pad from the mix.

He grabbed a pen and folded back all the pages until there was a blank one, quickly testing out the ink on the page corner before beginning.

_I’m 30, he’s 22._

_When I was 10, he was 2._

“Alright, alright, looking a bit grim.” He muttered.

_When I was 18, he was 10._

Alfred let out a low whistle. “Jesus, ok, let’s go a bit older.”

_When I’m 100, he’ll be 92._

_When I’m 50, he’ll be 42._

Alfred’s stomach churned.

Those numbers were better, but still made him nervous. It didn’t matter the age difference when they would be older, what mattered would be the age difference _now_. He couldn’t take from Matthew what he himself had missed out on- he wouldn’t. That wasn’t fair, not to anyone, especially Matthew.

Alfred sat by himself at his kitchen table, scribbling age differences and life differences between him and Matthew, a pros and cons list where all the pros consisted of ‘Matthew’, and the cons consisted of ‘Everything else’.

* * *

 

Hours later, Alfred woke up at his kitchen table, still holding his pencil. The paper was stuck to his face with drool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what, while I’ve got your attention, did you guys ever have to read those weird ass short stories in English classes? Like the kind that you think of years later when you’re in the middle of something completely mundane and suddenly you’re like “Hey, remember that one story about the dude and his family on mars, and they all got sick and died so he made robot clones of them and pretended nothing bad ever happened until HE died, and the robot clones made another robot clone of him, and they all lived peacefully, completely isolated on mars?” And then your best friend looks and you and just goes “Cicely, what the fuck.”
> 
> Anyways, happy late Fourth of July/Canada day everyone!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight NSFW warning ahead. 
> 
> Also, thank you so much for 1000+ hits!! <3

 

Madeline shifted behind Amelia, stretching the blue fabric out with her fingers. It didn’t conform, bunching up with visible stretch marks instead. Her nails left little pull imprints in the fabric and even caught on her nail, a thread ripped off by her hangnail. The logo on the shirt was flaky and peeling, drifting down onto Madeline’s knees in little white wisps.

“Amy, I think this shirt is too small,” Madeline suggested, “Maybe it’s time to get rid of it?”

Amelia made a sound as she rifled through her backpack, looking up as she shoved in a handful of papers. They were hopelessly crumpled, not that she particularly cared..

“Aw, but I always wear that shirt when I sleep over at your house, Mads.” She pouted in response, crawling over to fold herself next to where Madeline was squatting. “Why would I get rid of it?”

“It’s just,” Madeline said, folding the relatively tiny shirt up in her lap, “It’s literally falling apart, Amy. I’ve got one you can borrow.”

Amelia stuck her tongue out and rolled back onto the carpet, both her ankles popping. “Fine then.”

Madeline set the shirt down and got up to filter through her dresser, casting long shadows that ran up to the ceiling as she crossed the room. Her room was warm and toasty, collecting all the excess heat from downstairs and trapping it behind her door, and Madeline swung her hair up into a pony as she looked.

“Do you want a long-sleeve or a short sleeve?” She asked, yanking a drawer open.

The dresser squeaked as it opened; It was old and, although made with plenty of love, it wasn’t her dad’s best work. He’d made it during his free time at work when she was still young enough to go to preschool, and she’d never wanted to ask for a new one.

“Short sleeves, please,” Came the reply, “It’s always freakishly warm in your room.”

The drawer whined as Madeline leaned against it to shut it. “It’s because-”

“We’re right above the kitchen? You always say that.”

“For a good reason, duh,” Madeline laughed, “I’ll meet you downstairs in a minute, okay?”

She didn’t even get halfway down the stairs before Amelia came bounding down next to her, pulling Madeline’s T-shirt down around her waist.

* * *

 

“You know, I’m surprised you decided to come with us tonight, Matthew,” Gilbert said, clapping his arm around Matthew’s shoulder and squeezing, “Crawled outta’ that niche you call a room,”

Gilbert’s fingernails were long, and they pressed into Matthew’s shoulder painfully.

“Yeah, well,” Matthew laughed, “I figured it might be good to socialize a bit, eh?”

“Proud of ya’, _Maus_.”

Matthew was lurched to the side as Gilbert threw his other arm around Eliza and pulled her close, pressing a big kiss to her cheek. Matthew’s stomach jolted; his dinner wasn’t settling well. It felt like he’d downed a pitcher of water and his stomach was trying to control it by twisting.

It didn’t help that Gilbert kept hip checking him- or that he could feel the bass from the music vibrating the wall he was leaning on.

“Hey, yo, Ned!” Gilbert suddenly shouted, jerking away from Eliza and Matthew, “Pour another one for me, bro! I can outdrink everyone here!”

“Gilbert!” Eliza followed, leaving Matthew alone against the wall, “You know damn well I can drink more than you!”

Matthew slumped back against the wall and awkwardly smiled at people who passed him by, the music thumping too loud for him to hear any nearby conversations. The whole house (Matthew wasn’t sure whose house it was, honestly) smelled like Fireball, weed, stale chips and the overwhelming smell of cologne blended with perfume as people walked by. It was disgustingly fruity, repugnant, like mint toothpaste mixed with a Very Berry concoction.

The house was dark, bright neon lights glowing out from every different room. Matthew himself was ducked into a hallway, away from the light but unfortunately positioned right in the foot traffic. He felt someone brush his arm and moments later he was pulled into the (Living room, maybe?), able to see better in the rainbow neon light.

It was bright blue and rapidly changing to violet, the only source of light. Well, that and the light radiating from people’s phones dotted all around.

“Hey, you looked a bit crowded in there,” The person said, taking a step back from Matthew and practically shouting, “Can I get you a drink or something?”

“Uh, sure, yeah! That’d be nice, thanks!” Matthew shouted back.

The guy nodded, walked over to a table in the center of the room, and returned with a beer. He pressed the can into Matthew’s hands and smiled, his face a weird contortion of bright red light and shadows.

“I’m Thomas, thanks for coming tonight!” He said, taking a swig of his cheap beer. “It’s always good to see a new face around!”

“You’re welcome, I actually came with, uh,” Matthew started, searching around for Gilbert and Eliza. They’d both disappeared into the sea of people, unable to be heard over the music. “Do you know Gilbert and Elizaveta?”

“...I think so? I don’t remember every face that comes to my parties, you know.”

“Oh.”

* * *

 

“Amy, that’s gross-” Madeline started, “Oh, _gross_ , dad!”

Both Amelia and Alfred had pasta hanging out of their mouths, sauce smearing on their chins as the raced to slurp faster than the other. Amelia won (or maybe Alfred just let her win) a big chunk of tomato landing on her nose.

They’d originally started with a staring contest that evolved into them trying to eat and stare at the same time. It’d just grown from there, and now sauce was splattered on the table.

“Ok, ok, here,” Alfred laughed, wiping his face and handing a clean napkin over to Amelia, “Wipe your face off and finish up.”

Grabbing his plate and Madeline’s, Alfred stood up to cross over to the sink, sliding the plates into the water. Madeline brought over their glasses -”Thanks, sweetie,”- and dumped them next to the plates. Amelia’s plate joined theirs quickly, slipping under the bubble filled water.

“Madeline, if you’d do the honors,” Alfred said, getting the girl’s attention, “I bought that oreo ice cream you both like. Just make sure there’s enough left over in the carton for me.”

It was like he’d shot off a blank- A race ensued between them to be the first to grab the ice cream from the freezer, and then to be the first to grab a spoon. Madeline was gripping the ice cream to her like a child and Amelia nearly ripped the silverware drawer out entirely, then slammed it shut.

Alfred frowned at them.“Girls-  _use bowls_.”

“Right-”

“Sorry, daddy.”

* * *

 

“An English major, that’s…” Tom said, struggling to find the right word, “Well it sounds like you’re getting a great degree to work in a coffee shop.”

His beer felt as if it was curdling in his stomach like rotten milk, but Matthew smiled regardless. “Yeah, I guess it is a bit pretentious. It’s not _the_ worst though, what are you majoring in?”

Thomas smirked and leaned in towards Matthew like he was divulging some great secret or hot gossip, pressing into Matthew’s personal space. “I’m pre-law, aiming for Harvard.”

Matthew was hard pressed not to lean away and instead yawned as a distraction, turning away from Thomas’ neon face. They’d retreated to an emptier room with far less people, a few small clusters here and there laughing, and one very eager couple getting far too intimate on the couch in the middle of the room.

He could feel Thomas’ hand brush over his own- He’d chalked it up to them just standing very close to each other. That is, until Thomas started stroking small circles into the back on Matthew’s hand, a deliberate move that had Matthew feel red hot in the cool room.

Weakly, Matthew said: “Good for you, I’m glad you have something to look forward to.”

Thomas faulted. “I’m boring you aren’t I?”

“No, you’re very cool, I’m just tired.” Matthew tried to assure him.

“Well, if you want,” Thomas said slyly, “We could go somewhere a little _less_ tiring.”

Matthew chugged down the rest of his beer, ignoring the way it churned in his stomach.

* * *

 

The blanket had been taken off the back of the couch and thrown over Amelia’s legs as she brushed out Madeline’s hair, weaving through the pale locks with her fingers. She’d finished her ice cream as they watched some crap disney channel show that Alfred had begged them not to put on (“C’mon you two, Godzilla is way cooler than this!”), Madeline still eating her ice cream like it was a savory treasure.

“There’s so _much_ of it,” Amelia whined, Madeline’s hair completely encompassing her lap. “Like one of those big dogs.”

Madeline nearly snorted her ice cream back out. “I’m not a dog!”

“Oh my gosh, I wasn’t calling _you_ a dog, just your hair!” She laughed, “Like a wool blanket.”

“Yeah, well, your hair looks like a wet rat.” Madeline retorted, mouth full of ice cream, “A drowned rat, even.”

“I do not look like a rat!”

“Do too!”

Amelia yanked Madeline’s hair, causing Madeline to flick her ice cream. It splattered all up her face, the spoon hitting the bottom of her chin.

“Ha.” Amelia boasted, looking down into Madeline’s eyes.

“Oh, wow, good for you,” Madeline started, twisting her head away, “You got me to-”

“Madeline! Madeline, come here please!”

Both girls turned to look towards the hallway to the kitchen, instantly snapping towards the sound of Alfred yelling. It wasn’t like his normal yelling when he called for her; he sounded urgent and strained, a bit desperate as he called out again.

“Madeline?!”

The pale girl shot up so fast she decked Amelia in the chin and sent her flying back against the couch, blanket thrown away in abandon. Her ice cream dropped and splattered across the carpet, seeping into the thick strands and smearing onto her knees as she jumped up.

“Daddy?!”

Madeline hurdled down the hall and slid into the kitchen, her socks sliding her across the wood flooring with ease. There, standing in the kitchen, was her father, his head resting down on the counter and turned at an odd angle. He had his elbows braced on either side of his head, his knees bent to support him at counter height.

“Daddy?” Madeline repeated, running over to him.

Alfred was clearly doing his best to stop his face from contorting into one of pain, biting the inside of his cheeks and making a sound somewhere between a whine and a groan.

“Babygirl, I need you to call your uncle Kyle, ok?” He asked, voice straining. “Tell him it’s an emergency.”

Madeline didn’t move- Not until Amelia handed her Alfred’s phone from the counter.

* * *

 

He wasn’t drunk; Really, _he wasn’t_. High, on the other hand, kinda. Thomas did have decent weed, much better than the stuff Gilbert had back at home, but worse than the stuff Ned usually had on him. Matthew thought it might help his stomach, stop it from doing it’s weird gurgling and clenching. It didn’t, but he didn’t turn away the bong when Thomas handed it back over to him.

“Yeah, and so I was like, what the fuck would even be the point of having a meat section at a vegan restaurant anyways?” Thomas said, letting the smoke from his hit waft around his head, “It’s like those Chinese restaurants that have an ‘American’ menu on the side, it’s there but no one ever _actually_ orders from it, ‘cause it’s tacky and shit, yeah?”

Matthew nodded, completely pretending he was following along to what Thomas was saying. He watched the way he talked, waving his hands around to express emotion and how he’d grab at his hair- it was similar to how Alfred spoke, with his hands and with enthusiasm. Like he was telling some grand story, even though he was merely talking about food.

Matthew’s stomach wavered.

“Thanks, bruh,” He coughed, as Matthew passed the bong over. “Oh, damn- we’re out.”

Thomas fiddled with the bong for a few moments as Matthew leaned back on the couch they were sharing, adjusting his sweatshirt so it didn’t strangle him. He caught a whiff of it as he pulled it off over his head, the wonderful scent of Lavender filling his nose.

It smelled the exact same as it did when he slipped it on over his head fresh out of the bag, the smell of lavender so pungent it stung his nose. It was duller than that now, nothing like it was when he’d sat next to Alfred on his bed, gone through his pictures with him, nearly kissed him.

_Nearly_ kissed him.

More than likely lost all chance with him.

Matthew was watching Thomas say something with exaggeration- probably talking about scoring more weed on short notice.

Thomas was a lot like Alfred; his hair was darker, his skin tanner, eyes brown instead of that beautiful blue, but he had the same air. The same atmosphere that Alfred carried, that boldness and easy going way of speaking that made Matthew feel included, like he was part of whatever Alfred was talking about

“I could probably call up my friend Pierre and-” Thomas reasoned, quickly interrupted.

Matthew stopped him mid-sentence, reaching out and putting his hands on Thomas’ face, pressing up against him and kissing him. His lips were dry and both of them smelled like weed, but Thomas was (Bluntly, in Matthew’s opinion) hot and made Matthew’s stomach wavy.

Matthew pulled away, hands tight against Thomas. Thomas stared at him like he’d never been kissed before, his hands hovering around Matthew’s chest. He blinked before they went back at it again, pressing their lips together. Matthew openly inviting Thomas to kiss him back- which he did, eagerly.

With his eyes closed Matthew could let his mind wander. Could turn the brown eyes blue and make the black cherry hair blond. If only Thomas wore glasses.

Alright, so maybe he was a bit drunk. Just a little.

Thomas was a bit rougher and faster than Matthew would’ve liked, grabbing at Matthew’s hair and sweater. He wasn’t as soft with his actions as Alfred was or nearly as hesitant- Matthew soon enough found himself with his legs around Thomas’ lap and his arms wrapped around him. He never opened his eyes, fit to keep kissing.

Matthew didn’t pull the plug on their makeout session when the hands on his back lowered, or when they ran up along his skin. Not when he rolled his hips and he tugged at hair. Not when they heard the sound of the door opening and quickly slamming shut.

But the second Thomas went to unbuckle Matthew’s belt, Matthew’s eyes flashed open. His stomach whirled-

Matthew was going to vomit.

Matthew was going to vomit _right now_.

Launching himself off of Thomas’s lap, he floundered across the couch. He barely managed to make it over the armrest before his stomach gave up entirely, the contents of his stomach spewing all over the fabric and carpet. Half digested beer came up with the remnants of his dinner from earlier in the evening; foul, gross, and so many other words Matthew was blanking on.

“Sorry,” Matthew panted, clamping a hand over his mouth.

Thomas gaped. “Oh, _gross._ ”

Gross was an understatement. He’d practically exploded on the side of Thomas’s couch and the floor.

“Shit, are you gonna throw up more?” He asked.

Matthew shook his head. “No, I think that was it. God, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey man, don’t apologize, is there something I can do to help?” Thomas asked, muffling his nose. “Is there someplace I can take you?”

* * *

 

Kyle had barely knocked on the front door when Amelia opened it, staring up at the stranger with glistening blue eyes.

“Uh- hello there, lil’ Sheila, is Alf-” He began, kneeling down to her height.

“He’s in there,” She urged, pulling Kyle into the foyer by his sleeve and kicking the door shut, “Go, go, go, go, go, gooooo!”

Amelia wasted no time flinging Kyle into the kitchen where Alfred and Madeline were; Neither had moved since Madeline had ran in. Kyle took one look and straightened his jacket, power striding over to the counter.

“Alfred? Bloody hell, what’s happened?” He asked, grabbing a chair and dragging it over to Alfred, “Here, lean on this if you can.”

Alfred groaned as Kyle helped him move his legs and slowly adjust his neck into a less straining position. “I was drying the dishes and then I wasn’t drying the dishes.”

“A reasonable explanation,” Kyle mocked, “Instead of standing there, could one of you girls be lovely and go grab a neck brace from my trunk, please?”

Amelia nodded and took off, flicking on the porch light and leaving the door open, but Madeline stayed put at the counter. She watched Kyle’s hands like a hawk, her knuckles white against the tile. Trying her best to not let the big tears in her eyes spill over, Madeline ignored the ice cream on her legs and her loose hair.

“Alright sweetheart, I know you’re scared but your dad is gonna be just fine, ‘aight?” Kyle assured her, digging his thumbs into Alfred’s neck, “Why don’t you go watch some telly in the other room with your friend?”

Madeline didn’t respond and made a sort of high pitched sound instead, swaying in her spot. The front door slammed as Amelia ran back into the house, practically throwing the neck brace to Kyle.

“Babygirl, I’ll be fine, ok?” Alfred said, eyes darting to Amelia, “Amy, do you think you could-”

Hugging Madeline from behind, Amelia gently pried her away from the counter, using enough force to pull her. Madeline was reluctant to go but Amelia didn’t give up, finally getting her to turn away and walk with her into the hallway, only after Madeline made her dad promise to call her if he needed anything.

Alfred agreed, and he and Kyle waited until they heard the sound of the tv being turned up before letting out a joined sigh.

Alfred relaxed, letting some of the tension in his shoulders roll out as Kyle worked his way down Alfred’s back, stopping him from moving when he tried to sit. He worked his fingers against the neck muscles and up against the back of Alfred’s skull, trying to release the tension he found there.

“Okay, so you were washing dishes?” He asked.

‘Yeah,” Alfred answered, “I swear to God, Kyle. I’d turned to listen to the girls ‘cause I thought they were fighting and I couldn’t move after that. Managed to lay down on the counter. Dude, ow, sHIT-”

“Well, mate, got some news for you. First off, you threw your neck out, but it’s not that bad in the long haul,” He said, “Also, you’re going to be sleeping in this brace tonight. Okay, stand.”

Using Kyle as support, Alfred managed to shakily stand up. He was awkwardly hunched over, his head still at it’s twisted angle as Kyle stopped him from looking around. He let Kyle blindly lead him out of the kitchen and down the hall to his room, leaning him onto the bed. His pillows were fluffed and readjusted before Kyle let him lay down.  
  
He didn’t flop back on the bed like he normally did- instead he carefully leaned back until he was up against the pillows.

The soft collar brace was bulky.

* * *

 

Matthew still smelled vaguely like vomit; vomit and a lot of Thomas’s cologne (which really did smell like it’s own certain kind of vomit to Matthew).

He pulled on the edge of his sweater to straighten it and wiped off his glasses before knocking, so nervous that could feel the blood rushing through his veins and his chest. He’d spat out Alfred’s address to Thomas and then promptly passed out on the drive over, using Thomas’s assorted collection of Taco Bell wrappers to clean himself up. Maybe he could borrow Alfred’s clothes again or use his washer.

Something to make him a little less ‘Wasted College Kid’.

In all honesty, he was excited. He’d get to see Alfred again after their almost kiss the other day- get to talk to him. He could see someone’s blurry figure on the other side of the beveled glass in the door.

The door opened.

Matthew’s heart stopped beating.

Kyle looked at him through the open door, waiting. “Oh, hello there. Can I help you?”

No words escaped Matthew’s mouth. A strange wheezing sound did however, the only sound Matthew was capable of making at that exact moment. There was hardly air in his lungs (not that he noticed) and his fingernails dug into his palm; Kyle, _the Kyle_ , was here.

The one from Alfred’s facebook, the one who’d gone on vacation with him and Madeline was here in Alfred’s house, holding open the door to Matthew.

To top it off- he was just as gorgeous in real life as he was in his photos, more cleaned up than the rugged man in Alfred’s selfie.

“N-no, I’m,” Matthew stuttered, void of emotion, “I’m looking for Alfred.”

“Are you okay, mate?” Kyle asked, noticing the discolored vomit spots on Matthew’s sweater. “Do you need help?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, I’m fine, just an old sweatshirt.” He covered. Kyle seemed to buy it, or at least not care enough to say anything more.

Matthew briefly considered turning away from the door and bolting, maybe running all the way back to the cafe he and Alfred had been in so he could call someone to come get him. But before Matthew could even turn around, Amelia’s head popped out from behind Kyle.

She was a frizzy mess of wavy hair and dressed in clothes he didn’t recognize. “Matthew?”

There was a moment where Kyle looked between Amelia and Matthew before cocking his eyebrow at Matthew, seemingly blocking Matthew’s way in and Amelia’s way out.

“Sorry, she’s my sister,” He explained weakly, “Hey, Amy. I didn’t realize you were spending the night over here tonight.”

Pushing past Kyle like she owned the joint, Amelia studied her older brother. Her face went from confused to disgusted and she pinched her nose in a dramatic display of disgust.

“God, Mattie,” She uttered, “Have you been smoking?”

“What?” He laughed nervously, “No, I haven’t- Can I see Alfred please?”

Kyle shrugged and opened the door for him.

* * *

 

This wasn’t what he was expecting at all. He’d felt his gut leap into his throat when he saw Alfred lying there with his neck brace on, vaguely reaching for something off his bedstand. Amelia had pushed him through the house without an explanation and deposited him in Alfred’s doorway, like he was a package and she was a mail carrier.

“You have to see Alfred!” She’d claimed, frightfully strong for her size and able to tug him against his will.

Matthew didn’t say anything when he saw Alfred, but let out a sigh of relief when all he was reaching for was a glass of water.

He sighed too loud.

“Matthew?!” Alfred exclaimed when he finally noticed the younger man, lurking out in the space between Alfred’s door and the hallway. Water dribbled down his chin and he wiped it away quickly, instantly trying to sit up.

He somewhat wished he was still wearing his sweater- Amelia had made him leave it behind on the porch because of the stains and smell. With his hands in his pockets, Matthew shifted from foot to foot.

“Hey.”

The bed creaked as Alfred scooted up, trying to keep his pillows flat against his back. “What are, uh, what’re you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“I-”

He considered lying like he had to Kyle. Alfred seemed happy to see him, frowning when Matthew crossed his arms.

Like a cute, sad puppy that made Matthew forget his words.

They made eye contact, Matthew breaking away first as he glanced down the hall. Alfred had asked him a question-

“Who’s Kyle?” Matthew blurted, biting his lips immediately after. He didn’t look back at Alfred, and felt the same vile churning in his stomach that he had earlier. His words were stuttering in his throat, “Is he your-”

“Brother.” Alfred interrupted. His voice was scratchy but his tone was urgent. “Kyle’s my older brother.”

_Oh, thank God._

Instant relief flooded him, making him a bit shaky. His lower body felt like a wave had passed through it and calmed him, but the stomach feeling remained. He almost wanted to cry- _Kyle was Alfred’s brother, not his boyfriend._

Maybe Alfred noticed the way Matthew seemed to bend in relief, his posture relaxing. “He’s a doctor, but he used to be a physical trainer back in Austr-”

“I threw up on a guy tonight.”

The word ‘Australia’ never fully made it out of Alfred’s mouth, morphing into a very surprised sound. “What?”

“My stomach felt bad and I went to this dumb party,” He started, still pointedly avoiding Alfred’s eyes, “I went off to smoke with this guy and I just...kinda… everywhere.”

“Well are you okay?” Alfred asked, blue eyes gleaming behind his glasses. “Here, sit down.”

Matthew sat down on the edge of Alfred’s bed, taking in the soft quilt there. Alfred’s room was surprisingly modest; A bed with a big wooden frame, a picture of the New York skyline above the dresser, a lamp next to his bed, and a mirror on the closet door.

Not a whole ton that showed off Alfred’s goofy personality, but Matthew did spy a book on top of the dresser aptly named ‘One-Thousand and One Dad Jokes’.

Matthew went on: “I’m still a bit shaky but they guy offered to drop me off somewhere safe- I didn’t realize there was so much going on at your house already, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, if you’re ever in a situation like that, don’t feel bad about coming here, ever.” He replied, soft and concerning. “I’m glad to know you feel safe here.”

Smiling down at the carpet, Matthew felt a whole wave of warmth.

“Besides,” Alfred said, leaning back against his pillows, “Everything has calmed down finally. Kyle’s probably taken off by now and Madeline and Amelia are planning to pass out in their sleeping bags watching Frozen for the millionth time.”

“Yeah, I saw Madeline pulling them down the stairs when Amelia dragged me in here. What happened to you?”

“I threw my neck out in a hardcore wrestling match,” Alfred said, smirking when Matthew gave him a side-eye, “Washing dishes. Now I have to wear this for a day or two while it realigns or something.”

Matthew nodded before Alfred added: “Are you sure you’re okay, Mattie?”

Looking back at Alfred, Matthew nodded again. He pursed his lips to stop words from accidentally slipping out.

_I want to kiss you._

“Is there anything I can do to help your neck?” Matthew asked instead, spreading his hands out behind him and leaning back. “Anything I can get you?”

“Not really no, thanks. I’m a little disappointed- I was gonna finish your book tonight while the girls watched their movies.”

“You were?” He said, taken aback.

“Yeah, I was looking forward to it.” Alfred said. He was glad he had the soft collar on; Matthew couldn’t see the blush Alfred could feel. “I left it on my dresser if you want to grab it for me.”

He obliged, and Matthew moved aside the dad jokes to grab his own book. It’d clearly been with Alfred alot; many of the pages were dog-eared and there were faint indents on the covers. A few papers poked out in between the pages and the front cover, little scrap notes that Matthew barely glanced at.

“Do you want to spend the night here for tonight?” Alfred asked as Matthew sat back down, “You can sleep in the guest bedroom again.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, that would be fantastic, thank you. I’m really sorry to inconvenience you tonight.”

“Hey, I said don’t worry about it, you’re not a problem.” Alfred chuckled. “But if you’re feeling bad, there’s something you can do for me that’d really help me out.”

Matthew smiled. “Absolutely, anything I can do to help.”

“Read to me.”

“R-” Matthew paused, “Read to you?”

“Yeah, read me the ending to your story.” He said, rather nonchalantly. “I want to know how it ends and who’s better to read it to me than the author himself?”

Flipping open to the page that Alfred had last bookmarked, Matthew blinked. Alfred had left it right past the kissing part- or, well, the first kissing part. The part where they mentioned kissing. The book itself would end in a kiss scene between the main characters; Matthew’s face flushed.

There was no way he could possibly read this to Alfred.

“I guess I could read it to you, if you’d like.” Matthew replied, nervously clearing his throat.

Alfred smiled at him and nestled down in his spot, making sure his neck was elevated.”Thank you, Matthew. Here, feel free to scoot back so you’re not straining your back.”

Pulling himself up and settling against the headboard, Matthew cleared his throat again. Alfred shut his eyes and listened intently as Matthew went back over the last few paragraphs he’d read and continued from there. His voice was soft and gentle, putting emotion into each sentence and emphasis into certain words.

The room was warm and Alfred had a blanket thrown over him. He could hear his daughter and Amelia out in the living room and the faint sounds of the tv playing, laughing or quietly singing along to the musical. Matthew’s words were silvery to Alfred, comfortable and lulling.

Alfred didn’t know exactly when he fell asleep listening to Matthew, but his dream involved kissing.

For some reason, Matthew’s lips in his dream tasted like maple syrup.

* * *

 

Hours later, Madeline and Amelia worked together to pull a blanket over Alfred and Matthew; both sound asleep in Alfred’s bed.

The book lay in between the men and sandwiched by Matthew’s chest to the bed, his soft snore barely audible to Alfred’s.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaa, sorry for the wait, things have been rough lately. Anyways, enjoy. <3
> 
> Also, it seems I haven't been getting email updates from Ao3 like normal, so reply comments will be a bit delayed.

_“I got a lump in my throat ‘cause you’re gonna sing the words wrong-”_

Alfred yawned into his elbow. He was following the loud sound of bouncy music that’d reached him all the way in bed; luring him out of the warm blankets and down the hallway. He rolled his neck- it felt much better today after keeping it still, but the pain still tinged when he tilted it.

_“I just wanna, I just wanna know, if you’re gonna, if you’re gonna stay-”_

Voices that sounded reminiscent to yowling cats tried to harmonize with the music and failed, Alfred chuckling when one of the voices cracked loudly.

_“I can’t have it, I can’t have it any other way- I swear she’s destined for the screen-”_

He stopped in the doorway.

The music was playing from the tiny crank radio they kept in the pantry, a bit static sounding but ultimately loud. It was perfectly perched in the middle of the counter on top of a stack of Alfred’s cookbooks, a worn copy of _The Joy of Cooking_ lying open next to it.

His kitchen was alive with music, singing, and clinking plates being dished out on the table. Amelia had no trouble carrying a pile of dishes to the table, silverware already laden out and glasses at each placemat. Four plates all of various colors, four glasses that were really just jam jars recycled, a plastic pitcher of orange juice in the middle that made the table glow a warm honey tone in the sunlight. It was like his kitchen table had been transformed into an arrangement out of a _Southern Home_ magazine.

A tower of pancakes tettered on the counter as another was laid on top; fluffy, golden brown clouds almost perfectly made. Alfred watched his daughter carefully flip one in the pan, standing on a stool to reach the stovetop. She did it confidently, but judging by the looks of the other pancakes, Alfred figured that she’d only made the last couple on her own.

“Alfred!”

Startled, Alfred looked over to see Matthew standing by the fridge, hidden in the corner. Fruits were scattered in bowls in front of him, chopped up into bite-sized chunks with the knife Matthew was wielding. Alfred hardly noticed however-

Matthew was dressed entirely in Alfred’s clothing.

His normal Canopia College sweatshirt was gone and replaced with an old sweater of Alfred’s that draped over his wispy frame; the sleeves had been rolled up to his wrists to stop them from dwarfing his hands. The brick red of the sweater pointed out the warm tint in Matthew’s hair, beautiful soft curls that brushed his jawline and glowed in the morning light.

The kitchen seemed to fit around him- or more like, Matthew had started to blend in with the kitchen. He didn’t look like the strange, lanky older brother who simply hung around for his sister anymore. To Alfred, it seemed like Matthew was a perfect puzzle piece in an almost disgustingly domestic morning scene.

“Mornin’, Dad!” Madeline chirped. She switched the stovetop off and hopped off her stool, hair bouncing in her ponytail.

“Good morning, babygirl,” He replied, barely brushing his lips against the top of her head, “What’s all this?”

“Breakfast!”

From the table, Amelia interrupted: “We made Matthew stay and help!”

“I _wanted_ to stay and help,” Matthew protested, wiping strawberry juice up with an old dish rag, “They make it seem like I was going to just make a break for it.”

Snorting, Alfred made to grab the pancake plate. “Were you?”

“Nuh-uh, don’t you touch that!” Matthew barked, making Alfred freeze mid-stretch. “You go sit down, you’re not allowed to do anything strenuous today.”

Madeline giggled as she dashed between the two, snagging bowls of fruit.

“I really don’t think lifting a plate full of pancakes is _strenuous_ , Matthew.” Alfred laughed, crossing his arms. “All my limbs are fully functional.”

“They’re not gonna be if you reach for that plate again,” Matthew said. He was better at faking an angry face than Alfred was, who couldn’t stop his lips from curling in the corners.

“A threat? I can’t believe this, I can totally-” He started, reaching for the plate again.

Matthew towel whipped him with the dish rag.

“I cannot believe that you just-”

Again with the dish rag, but this time Matthew’s stubborn face faltered into a grin.

“In my own home-”

Alfred laughed as Matthew started blatantly hitting him with the rag, hip checking him away from the counter and towards the table.

“Go sit down, Alfred, _sit,_ ” Matthew said, picking up the pancakes himself, “Amy, grab the rest of the fruit please.”

The chair creaked as Alfred settled down into it. He didn’t even have time to lift a finger before Madeline filled his glass up with orange juice, like she was a little waitress ready to go.

“Buggy, I can hold a pitcher of OJ all on my own,” He said, trying to lift the pitcher away from her.

She swatted back at him and narrowly avoided pouring the juice all over the table, a large dollop splashing out onto Alfred’s hand.

“Everyone keeps smacking me today,” Alfred commented as he grabbed a napkin, “What kinda family is this?”

“A loving one.” Matthew said.

The music was switched off by the time they all sat down, Alfred across from Matthew, Madeline across from Amelia. Their glasses were filled nearly to the brim thanks to Madeline’s pouring; Matthew failing to hide the dribble going down his chin before Alfred noticed and laughed.

Amelia happily drowned her pancakes in so much syrup that the plate acted more as a bowl, and Matthew promptly did the same. Father and daughter exchanged silent raised-eyebrow expressions before shrugging, then fighting over the strawberries.

“So, uh,” Alfred started, meagerly poking at his berries, “What’s the whole breakfast for?”

The girls responded excitedly, claiming that they’d planned to make it themselves before Alfred woke up, and that they’d roped Matthew into helping. Matthew nodded along and stuffed his face full of food to avoid responding.

Alfred almost considered asking him what happened last night after he fell asleep- Did Matthew stay the night? Did he spend the night in the guestroom or did he fall asleep while reading too? Did the boys in the book kiss, or did Alfred just imagine that part?

Do Matthew’s lips really taste like maple? Alfred nearly choked on his juice.

Watching Alfred out of the corner of his eye, Matthew hoped it wasn’t too obvious that he was watching Alfred’s every move. Amelia and Madeline chatted away over something Matthew didn’t understand, giving him ample time to observe Alfred.

Alfred didn’t know that last night Matthew had woken up curled into his side. That he’d had one leg wound between Alfred’s legs and his arm around his waist, his head resting against Alfred’s chest. That they’d shared a blanket that wasn’t quite big enough to cover the whole bed and when he was half asleep, Matthew had crawled under the covers with Alfred. He’d clung to Alfred’s side like a koala, trying to leech as much warmth as he possibly could from the older man. When he’d finally woken up he had panicked, jumped out of bed still fully dressed and made a beeline for the front door (only after running back into the room to make sure Alfred was covered up in blankets).

Madeline and Amelia had stopped him; they weren’t lying when they said Matthew had been making a break for it. Madeline had even gotten clothes for Matthew to wear; a thick, warm sweater and jeans that were too big but still wearable. Speaking of which-

“I like that sweater on you, Matthew,” Alfred said, “Looks better on you than it usually does on me.”

Matthew gaped around a bite of pancake. “This is yours?”

“Yeah?” Alfred responded through a mouth full of food.

“Wait, did you really think we gave you a little girl’s sweater?” Amelia said, “Use your head, dummy, we’re a lot smaller than you.”

“Amy, be nice!” Madeline stressed, “Sorry, Matthew, it was the only clothes we had that’d fit you.”

“Yeah, you’re too fat, Mattie.”

“Amy!”

“Fat?” Alfred asked, “No, no, _I’m_ fat. Matthew’s an actual stringbean.”

“You’re not fat, Alfred.”

“Yeah, Mr.Jones, you’re buff. Like Captain America.”

“Really? Like Captain America, huh?”

“Exactly like Captain America, dad.”

“But you’re not cute like him.”

“Alfred is plenty cute, Amy.”

Dead silence.

Matthew blushed so hard he was nearly matching the sweater color-wise.

“...Anyways,” Amelia said slowly.

Matthew drifted out of the conversation, only vaguely listening to the girls making plans to go over to Amelia’s house, something about the mall. All Matthew could think about was having to go back to his dorm.

He’d probably just go home, sit on his bed, make some half ass attempt at writing before giving up and lying down. He’d think about how empty his bed seems; how he forgot how much he liked sleeping next to someone and snuggling into them, feeling their heartbeat, feeling the rhythmic rising and falling of their chest. Alfred’s especially, how warm and sturdy he felt against Matthew and how he instinctively wrapped an arm around the younger man in his sleep.

“Matthew?”

He looked up at Alfred, greeted with a soft smile. His insides tightened- it truly was unfair how cute Alfred was, in his loose t-shirt and bedhead.

“Yeah-” Matthew said, his voice coming out in a dreamy tone before he cleared it, “Yeah?”

“I have to go to work for a few hours, but after I get off, do you want to hang out?” He asked. He finished off his last bite of food before continuing; “We could get coffee again!”

Matthew nodded, heart fluttering. “That sounds great, I’d love to.”

* * *

 

  
“So, Captain,” Matthew said, “How’d work go?”

They’d gotten their previous seat at the coffeeshop again, hidden away in the corner, and Matthew was nursing his maple latte. It had a cute little leaf design dragged into the foam- a pretty detail that matched the dark green mug.

“Captain?” Alfred asked through a mouth full of grilled cheese.

If there was one thing Matthew had downpat about Alfred, it was that he had no issue talking with food in his mouth.

“Captain America?” Matthew said, “From breakfast this morning?”

“Oh, right!” He nodded, “It went fine, I talked to my boss about taking time off for my back. I have to finish up this week but after that I can take as much paid off time as I need.”

“Really, eh? That’s so nice of him.”

Matthew picked at his own pastry. He wasn’t hungry enough to eat it, but it seemed like a waste to throw it away after he spent nearly five dollars on it. A layer of tissue-paper like pastry came off, and he crumpled it in his fingers.

A different woman was playing music in the corner than last time. Much more mellow music filled the shop and made Matthew relax; a soft song with a gentle voice accompanying it that was airily light.

“You think I’m hot and buff?” Alfred asked.

Matthew stabbed through the foam leaf design with his spoon, ruining it completely.

“What?” He asked, looking up into Alfred’s smirking face.

“Captain America, he’s totally hot _and_ buff.” Alfred said. He wagged an eyebrow at Matthew. “So, is it true?”

_Yes, absolutely, one hundred percent, honest to God true._

“You’re the least buff, unhandsome man I’ve ever seen in my whole life.” Matthew deadpanned.

Alfred’s face fell for a mere second before he beamed. “So I’m the cutest, chubbiest guy you’ve ever met then.”

Matthew took a bite of pastry to hide his embarrassed smile. He crossed his legs under the table and brushed his foot against Alfred’s, pointedly staring over at the singer like _she_ was the most interesting person in the coffee place to Matthew.

“You’re not denying it, Matthew,” Alfred smirked, “Am I the cutest guy you know?”

He regretted wearing Alfred’s sweater. When he blushed, it was like Matthew was wearing a portable heater. It wasn’t a simple mistake he’d made by wearing it; Alfred hadn’t stopped him from leaving his house with it on, and Matthew had no reason to take it off.

Nor any _want_ to take it off. It smelled like Alfred; Lavender fabric softener and woodchips.

“Hardly.” Matthew said, struggling to keep a straight face as his voice cracked.

“Oh, okay.”

Alfred went back to his sandwich, like he’d taken Matthew at face value and decided to leave it at that.

On the other side of the table, Alfred was worried. Trying to hide his face in his sandwich and hunching his shoulders- did he just make Matthew uncomfortable? Was Matthew serious?

He waited for Matthew to say something flirty back, to respond in a way that Alfred could take as a positive response. Literally anything would do, any small sign that Matthew wasn’t actively trying to turn him down. Matthew ignored him with another bite of pastry.

“Dude, why do you keep nudging me?” Alfred asked, pulling back to look under the table at their feet.

Matthew instantly pulled both feet back under his chair.

“Oh, uh, I- I was trying to- I thought-” He stammered, his face flushing red and heart racing, “You know like that thing- I- with the feet and all- footsies- It’s cute and flirty, I don’t know, I’m really sorry.”

Scooting back into his spot, Alfred blinked. The rest of the coffee shop was oblivious to the obvious gears turning in Alfred’s head, or how Matthew watched through parted fingers.

“...Cute and flirty?” He said slowly, realization dawning on his face slowly. “Oh! _Oh._ Are we flirting? Are we… oh.”

There was silence and dead air between them as they stared at each other. Neither moved above the table, stuck in their positions like they’d been flash frozen and unsure of what to do. Matthew stayed put with his hands on his face to cover his blush, Alfred halfway between sitting up straight and holding onto his armrest.

Slowly enough, Alfred nudged Matthew with his foot and Matthew nudged back.

Alfred cleared his throat. “So, did you notice they had a different singer tonight?”

“Yeah, actually,” Matthew responded, lowering his hands to his mug again, “I like her better. She’s softer sounding, sweet.”

“I like her too. How’s your maple thing tonight? Is it the same as it was last time?”

Matthew nodded. “Almost the exact same.”

They made meaningless, blushy small talk, their ankles hooked under the table.

* * *

 

  
“Daddy! I can’t find the extra towels!” Madeline yelled, her voice ricocheting down the stairs, “They’re not in the closet!”

“I said the downstairs closet!”

Ripping a piece of duct tape off the roll with his teeth, Alfred squirmed to reach the pipe under the sink. He looped the tape around once, twice, three times before patting it down to seal it.

“Found them!”

“Oh, yeah? Where were they?” He yelled back, crab crawling out from under the sink.

Madeline mumbled as she tossed a towel in Alfred’s direction. “In the downstairs closet.”

“Right, well,” Alfred hummed and jammed the towel down under the pipe, “I think we’re all set! No more leaking tonight.”

Outside, a wave of rain shuddered against the house.

The sky had started pouring not long after they’d left the coffee shop. Alfred had made a beeline to the mall to pick up the girls from their hang out session and drop Amelia off at home. The evening had quickly turned from sunshiny goodness to cold wind and rain, and Alfred made quick work to patch up all the leaky bits of the house that he told himself months ago that he’d do one day.

Madeline was helping him, reluctantly, and was the only one to hear the knock at the door.

“Dad!”

“What?” Alfred replied, drying his hands off on his jeans. “Why you got the front door open?”

“ _Dad!_ ” Madeline said again, hissing her voice like she was trying to subtly nod towards the person on the porch. “Come here!”

Alfred walked slow, peering around the front door onto the porch as Madeline dragged her feet upstairs.

Matthew’s hood was pulled up and over his head, his sweatshirt dotted with darkened patches where rain had hit him.

“Alfred, hey,” He started.

“Matthew? What the hell are you doing here, it’s storming outside!” Alfred said, shifting so he could usher Matthew in. “I thought you said you were gonna go straight back to school?”

Matthew pulled his hood off and ran a hand through his hair. “I was- well I did, but I realised- I accidently took your wallet at the cafe.”

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out Alfred’s wallet. He held out the thin, folded leather to Alfred with a smile, “I must’ve swept it into my bag when we were leaving, I’m really sorry.”

Alfred took it and looked at the wallet like it was something brand new to him. “Huh, alright. Thanks for getting it back to me, I didn’t even realise it was gone.”

“Of course.” Peering past Alfred into the kitchen, Matthew continued, “Are you guys all set up for the rain?”

“Uh, mostly. You know, as much as we can be.” He laughed. “Sure as hell didn’t expect this downpour though.”

There was a few moments of rain-filled silence where Alfred stared at Matthew and Matthew stared back.

“Ok, well, I’m gonna go home then.” Matthew said. “I was gonna drop by sometime later with another copy of my book for you- I bet yours got pretty squished last night.”

“Sounds great! And, Matthew, I had a great time at the coffee place today.”

Matthew blinked and smiled for a mere moment before it flicked away. “Yeah, I did too. I’ll see you again soon, Alfred.”

Alfred watched Matthew turn away before he tossed his wallet over onto the table, missing completely. “Hey, Mattie?”

The younger man glanced over his shoulder before gently shutting the door, still firmly inside. A gust of cold wind escaped into the house and made him shiver.

“Yeah?”

"I'm not that good at flirting."

Alfred closed the space between them in seconds. The wind outside howled and a sheet of rain beat down on the house as Alfred pulled Matthew towards him and kissed him.

Matthew’s face was cold and soft in Alfred’s hands, his lips wet from where Matthew had wiped the raindrops off. A soft layer of peach fuzz on Matthew’s cheeks that’d never grow quite into a beard, sloping around his chin and jawline. Alfred faintly followed the edge of Matthew’s jaw with his thumb.

Matthew felt chilled. Chilled from the rain still seeping into his shoulders and water soaking through his shoes to his socks. But Alfred- Alfred was _warm_ , hot like he was the sun on Matthew’s skin. His lips were smooth and welcoming and almost candy-flavored, a cherry taste from his chapstick.

The keys to his car slipped out of his hand and clattered down around their ankles. Matthew kissed back, soft and delicate, bringing his arms up around Alfred’s shoulders. He laced his fingers into Alfred’s hair as he stretched up on his tippy-toes to match him better, Alfred’s hands moving from his face to around his ribcage.

The older man seemed hesitant in his kiss; able to bring Matthew’s and his lips together but nothing further. Matthew had to cross that line for him, softly prying Alfred’s lips apart with his own. It felt like Alfred’s lips and hands were the only thing keeping Matthew from melting into a puddle right then and there.

Another sheet of rain passed before Alfred pulled away, pressing his lips to Matthew’s cheekbone, his breath hot on Matthew’s skin.

“Matthew,” Alfred whispered, “You have to leave.”

Matthew didn’t open his eyes, still trying to savor the moment, but scrunched his eyebrows. “Please, Alfred...”

“Madeline is home, Matthew,” He said, “You _have_ to go.”

They looked at each other, Matthew opening his eyes to Alfred’s blue ones.

Oceans, sky, the underside of a glacier. Blueberries.

“Okay.” Matthew nodded.

Neither moved away. Alfred roped Matthew into another kiss, this time curling his fingers around the neck of Matthew’s hoodie. He pulled it up over Matthew’s head when they broke away again, brushing off Matthew’s shoulders.

“Drive safe out there, okay?” Alfred smiled, “Don’t party too hard.”

“I will!” Matthew said. “Drive safe, I mean, not party hard.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”  
  
Alfred watched Matthew jog all the way back to his car and made sure he pulled off safely, watching his taillights for as long as he could see them. He slammed the door once Matthew rounded the street corner, and Alfred faced the stairs.

Promptly slid down the back of the door and landed on his butt. He took a few minutes to process what happened, touching his lips with his fingertips. “Holy shit. Holy shit!”

It’s been so long since he’d kissed someone, anyone. Years at least, some point after when Madeline first started out in school, and he’d rapidly lost interest in anyone he met. They were either bothered by his daughter, or had kids of their own that Alfred couldn’t stand, or just generally weren’t looking for something so long-term and solid.

Matthew was different. Matthew was _different_.

“Daddy?” Madeline asked, wandering into the hallway. “What are you doing on the floor?”

Alfred practically vaulted towards his daughter. Sprawled out on the floor in front of her, his hands on her thin shoulders, Alfred beamed:

“I am the _luckiest_ guy alive on the planet, babygirl.”

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a massive storm where I live right now, so plenty of time to write! <3 And thank you to everyone who has left a comment or a kudo, thank you so much!! :)

The masseuse had a thick accent and soft hands that wandered up and down Alfred’s back, pressing in against muscles Alfred didn’t even know he could feel. He could see why Arthur would recommend him; He had a voice like liquid gold.

Within a few minutes into the session, the tension in Alfred’s back had relaxed and he’d let his muscles ease. His shoulders were being kneaded under the Frenchman’s hands and his head positioned for different stretches, the occasional backpop as Alfred moved.

He wasn’t moving Alfred roughly or jerking him, instead gently prodding him in the right direction to shift before his back popped again. Rearranging Alfred in different ways that made him melt against the massage table and relax.

“So,” Francis said, working down Alfred’s spine, “I was recommended?”

“Yeah, my dad actually gave me your card and made my appointment for me in advance. Said you were pretty heavily booked normally.” Alfred replied. He was a bit muffled, staring down at the pretty carpet with his head against a cushion.

He could hear the angry voicemail in his head all over again; Arthur yelling at him through the phone, how _dare_ Alfred not call him and tell him his back had gotten worse, didn’t he know that that was _dumb_ and _dangerous_ , hadn’t he raised Alfred to take care of himself better-

Alfred had made sure that their meeting only lasted a few minutes.

“It’s funny, one of my daughter’s teachers has the last name Bonnefoy too.” He said, trying to make small talk. He didn’t think that the next man to touch him would have been hired to by his dad.

“Ah! Does your daughter attend Sanooq Elementary?” A cracking sound as Alfred’s back was popped. “My Michelle is a teacher there, oui.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s the place.”

Francis made Alfred turn his head the other way now. “You have a daughter?”

He made a noise in response. “An eleven year old, Madeline. Like the book. Well, actually, after the book.”

“Oh! A beautiful french name!” Francis said, and Alfred could hear the smile in his voice. “Is her mother French perhaps?”

Alfred snorted. “Belarusian.”

“Ah.” Francis paused. “Your wife must be very beautiful.”

Alfred didn't respond with more than a simple ”Thanks.”

* * *

 

Nodding along to the muffled metal music coming through Gilbert’s headphones, Matthew twirled his pen through his fingers. It was just loud enough that it distracted Matthew from the work in front of him, but quiet enough that the passing by librarian didn’t spare them any glances.

He was supposed to be writing something, taking notes on this or that, studying for some exam he’d have sooner or later. The pen hardly distracted him as Matthew’s eyes glazed over, biting the clicky tip and digging his teeth into the soft plastic. It was all just of bunch of words that Matthew looked at but didn’t really read- he hadn’t flipped his page since they’d sat down in the library.

_“Madeline is home, Matthew. You have to go.”_

What would have happened if he’d stayed?

That question had been plauging his mind all weekend and stopped him from focusing in his morning classes. Would Alfred have invited him to stay? Had Alfred ever had sex with another guy before? He didn’t remember Alfred mentioning anything about another guy before Matthew. He’d guessed Kyle, but that was Alfred’s brother-

He bit the inside of his lip a little too hard.

His phone buzzed and Matthew spared a glance at it under the desk. The smile on his face was inevitable as Alfred’s name glowed on the screen. A cropped photo of his face appeared on the screen as well- the one of Alfred and Kyle on the beach, Alfred’s hair wet and skin glowing.

_Alfred: Hey, Matthew, the girls and I are gonna see a movie tomorrow night, do you want to join us?_

Matthew clicked the pen against his lip.

_Matthew: Of course! I would be glad to join you guys :)_

An instant reply, and Matthew imagined Alfred somewhere waiting on Matthew’s response.

_Alfred: Awesome!_

A pleasant warmth traveled up Matthew’s body, an involuntary shiver that he hid in his hoodie.

“Hey Matthew, can you help me with this War of 1812 stuff?” Gilbert asked, pulling Matthew from his day-dream.

“Eh? Oh, yes, I can.”

* * *

 

Fresh popcorn wafted through the doorway as Matthew pushed his way in. A sudden change from the cold outside into the crowded theater, and Matthew plowed face first into a man’s back. He backed away sheepishly as the man scowled at him.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” Matthew said, taking a good step back.

With his back against an oversized movie poster, Matthew sent off a text to Alfred. He couldn’t see the blond man anywhere in the line- nor the tiny blonde girls who usually hovered around him waist high. Their voices were drowned out by the general chatter and movie trailers playing on screens all around Matthew, leaving the Canadian alone in a sea of people.

_Alfred: We see you by the doorway! Look near the popcorn!_

He didn’t see them, even after he wedged himself out of line and edged himself along the wall.

“Matthew! Hey, over here!”

Standing on his tiptoes, Matthew peeked over the crowd. He caught a glimpse of a hand waving through the air, then Alfred’s head as he hopped up to get Matthew’s attention.

“Matthew!” Alfred yelled again, this time catching Matthew’s eye, “Mattieeeeeee!”

“Excuse me,” Matthew mumbled. He weaved through various families and groups before he reached the three waiting for him, Alfred ushering him into their little group.

A few seconds passed where Matthew had to duck to get under a line divider and nearly took it with him, straightening up face-to-face with Alfred.

Alfred was wearing the black shirt Matthew had seen him in before, and Matthew was close enough to smell the obvious cologne he used. The fresh shave Alfred had and the slightly floppy hair Matthew wanted to dig his hands into.

It had been a few days since their kiss; the kiss that made Matthew drive home with a pounding heart and spent the whole night reliving. He’d dreamt about going further with Alfred, kissing him until his lips were sore, waking up in Alfred’s sheets, and grabbing at his skin-

He really needed a hobby besides writing smut books.

“Hey, Alfred.” Matthew said. “Amy, Madeline.”

He hadn’t told a single soul about Alfred kissing him. It felt _ridiculous_.

It was quite literally the only thing Matthew had thought about for days. The way Alfred touched his face and how gently he held Matthew, how he pulled Matthew in tighter. Matthew wanted to scream about it from the rooftops, grab Eliza by the shoulders and shout about it.

He wanted to print out a hundred copies of “I KISSED ALFRED JONES” in all capitals and staple them onto every wall from his room to Alfred’s. One on Gilbert’s forehead. Maybe mail one to his ex-boyfriend.

“How’s your back feeling?” Came out instead.

“Better!” Alfred practically glowed.

Matthew let himself be mindlessly pushed through the line and have popcorn thrust into his open hands. He didn’t push for candy like Amelia did, but tried to sway Alfred away from seeing the latest animated movie with the girls.

“We should go see The Fearing,” Matthew suggested, “I hear it’s supposed to be really good.”

“Oh, but,” Alfred pouted, “I love movies about cute puppies.”

Amelia and Alfred both got sodas so large they had to be held with both hands, but Madeline kept her box of mints firmly closed before the movie. Alfred had caved to Matthew’s puppy eyes and bought them to tickets to the R-rated film, to the silent glee of Madeline and Amelia.

“Ok, so, we’ll meet you guys back out here in the lobby at 10:30 by the bathrooms,” Alfred explained, handing the girls their tickets.

“Sure sure.” Amelia responded as Madeline took a sip of soda.

“And we’ll be right here in theater eleven if you need to come find us, ok?” Matthew said.

“Can we go get find our seats now?”

“Amy, I wanna sit in the front, please.”

“Fine, go,” Matthew sighed, “Make sure your phones are on silent.”

The girls were gone from sight before Matthew and Alfred even reached their door, the attendant taking their tickets through candy loaded hands. Matthew had candy boxes stacked up under his chin and another shoved into his hoodie pocket as Alfred cradled his soda to his chest like a newborn baby.

“Do we really need all this junk, Al?”

“Uh, yeah?” Alfred said, pocketing their ticket stubs, “What kinda moviegoer are you?”

“The silent kind.”

Matthew shot him a sour look as Alfred slurped on the soda loudly.

Cute. Annoying, certainly, but cute.

* * *

 

Matthew realized Alfred had lied about being okay with scary movies somewhere between the moment where Alfred was holding his hand sweetly, then nearly crushing it out of fear.

The older man was hiding behind his own hand and a box of chocolates as the other people in the theater screamed at the almost painfully obvious display of fake blood and injuries. Matthew rolled his eyes at first; he’d thought Alfred was laughing, not trying to shield himself.

“Alfred,” Matthew said, voice a bit strained as he pried Alfred’s hand off his, “It’s really not that scary.”

He was nearly shaking in his seat as Matthew shifted as close as he could.

“Alfred, c’mon, it’s so obviously fake, just look at-” Matthew started. Maybe now wouldn’t be the best time to make Alfred look; not when the screen was taken up by a little blonde girl whose head was spinning around. “Just look at me, okay?”

They had settled in the very back, in the highest row directly in the middle. Matthew made Alfred squeeze all the way up into the back row with him so they had plenty of space and no one next to them, free to take up the extra seats surrounding them with Alfred’s snacks.

Matthew couldn’t quite see Alfred’s face in the dark, so he blindly reached out to place a comforting hand on Alfred’s cheek. It may have been hard to hear him over the screaming coming over the surround sound around them, but Matthew could feel Alfred nod into his palm.

“None of it’s real Alfred, you know that, there’s no reason to be so scared.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Alfred said. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, hold my popcorn?”

Matthew took the flimsy, buttery bag from Alfred and settled it into his lap. He popped a peice in his mouth as he watched Alfred’s dark form head down the stairs and through the door, a slice of bright light from the hallway illuminating the room for a moment.

In hindsight, Matthew should’ve noticed the way Alfred tried to weasel out of the scary movie choice. He’d honestly thought that Alfred would like _The Fearing_ ; they’d watched zombie shows together perfectly fine before, Alfred even being the one to push for it.

Alfred had suggested a number of any movies before the one they bought tickets for- “Look, Matthew, this one has Emily Blunt in it!”

But it’d been Matthew who’d pushed for the scary one; a secret agenda hidden up his sleeve. He’d wanted an excuse to cozy up to Alfred in the back of the theater, hold his hand, and grab onto him when the suspense was ‘too much’. Whisper snide remarks when one of the characters did something stupid or dumb, and silently cheer when the annoying character was killed off.

He slumped the popcorn down into Alfred’s vacant seat as on-screen a character was murdered and the audience screamed; Matthew grabbed his wallet and phone. Maybe he could get the ticket people to switch their movies- Alfred could catch the last hour of the rom-com he wanted to see.

* * *

 

Peeking in through the bathroom door, Matthew caught a glimpse of Alfred in the mirror. He looked genuinely shaken and Matthew felt his insides fall; Alfred had been _really_ scared, hadn’t he?

“Alfred?” Matthew asked, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Are you okay?”

Water held down a few strands of Alfred’s bangs to his forehead, face still gleaming from Alfred splashing it off. “Matthew? You’re gonna miss the movie.”

“I don’t care about it.” He replied. “I got the ticket clerk to switch our tickets if you still want to go see the other one. Or join Madeline and Amelia in their theater.”

Alfred nodded silently and ripped a paper towel out of the dispenser, dabbing at his face. It was red and blotchy where he dabbed with the rough paper.

“You should have told me you didn’t like scary movies, we could have gone and seen something else.”

“Ghosts and creepy little girls. Don’t like either of them,” The paper towel was balled up and tossed into the trash, “But it’s what you wanted to see, right?”

Matthew sighed and leaned against the counter. He didn’t even move when he felt the water pooled around the edge of the sink wet his sweater. “Not...really.”

Alfred spared him a side glance and blinked. “Huh?”

“I just wanted to see something that’d give me an excuse to, uh,” The words buffered in his head, “...Snuggle with you.”

“Oh.” Alfred said. It was hard to tell if the redness of his face was from the paper towel or a blush, Matthew couldn’t tell without outright staring.

The older man carded his hair and slid his hands into his back pockets.

“This is a pretty awful first date, isn’t it?” He asked.

Matthew turned to look at him. “What?”

“I couldn’t figure out a good night to ask you out properly, and I didn't think your parents would be all too happy with me if I left them to take care of my daughter while I took out their son. So, I thought this,” Alfred gestured awkwardly, “Would work out. The girls are entertained and we’d go see a sappy comedy.”

Matthew blinked at him and Alfred took the opportunity to keep talking.

“I’d wanted to go out to dinner or something, but I work all week and I don’t have a babysitter, and I didn’t think you’d want to go see a scary movie-”

“Alfred, I-”

“God, I’m already screwing this up.” Alfred sighed.

“Alfred, hey,” Matthew said, placing a hand on Alfred’s shoulder, “It’s okay, really.”

Alfred put his glasses back on and blurrily, Matthew came into focus. “Really?”

“Of course- I understand, you’re a single dad. You don’t have all the free time in the world to date.”

He leaned forward and pecked a kiss onto Alfred’s cheek.

“Thanks, Mattie.” Alfred said.

  
They stood there and Matthew let his hand rest on Alfred, going in for another peck, this time on Alfred’s lips.

He went to pull back again and instead felt Alfred holding him there, hands against his back. Matthew was finally getting the kiss he’d thought about for days; he wasn’t going to let the fact that they were in a public bathroom stop him.

Matthew ran his hands into Alfred’s hair and pulled him as close as he could. Alfred tasted like popcorn, a little like sour candy, and a lot like melted chocolate. He didn't even have time to pull his hands out of Alfred's hair before Alfred had his hands on his ribs, then his hips.

Alfred had turned them so Matthew was pressed against the counter and Alfred helped lift him up on it, hands staying firm on Matthew’s. They kissed like they couldn’t get close enough to each other; Matthew even going so far as to cross his ankles behind Alfred’s thighs and trap him. Pressed against each other, Matthew on the counter and still tugging at the golden-blond hair on Alfred’s head, their glasses pressing against each other’s noses painfully.

The younger man was one hip roll away from trying to touch Alfred-

“Hey, you guys can’t do that in here.”

A gross suctioning sound as Alfred pulled himself off of Matthew, whipping around.

An employee in a dark blue polo and wheeling a mop behind him frowned at the two. He didn’t even looked disgusted by it; merely like walking in on Alfred and Matthew kissing was more of a minor inconvenience to him.

“You guys aren’t the first to make-out in here, you know,” The employee sniffed, “But most people have the courtesy to do it in the wheelchair access stall.”

“Sorry-”

“So sorry-”

In unison the two fumbled away from the counter and wiped at their mouths. Matthew’s butt was wet from sitting in a sink puddle and Alfred finger-combed through his hair hastily, trying to pat down the strands sticking upright. They looked each other over and then nodded, like they were approving each other for public viewing.

“Please leave so I can mop.”

“Right,” Matthew squeaked, his voice cracking nervously, “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, I- we, uh,” Alfred struggled, “Sorry.”   
The door swung shut behind them as they rushed out.

* * *

 

Amelia leaned back in her seat, pushing it to it’s limits and propping her feet up on the seat in front of her. Popcorn had littered the ground around her, accidental spills from her shifting and readjusting in her seat.

She didn’t even hear Alfred and Matthew sliding into the seats behind her’s and Madeline’s, until Madeline gasped in surprise.

“Enjoying the movie so far, babygirl?” Alfred asked, ruffling Madeline’s hair.

“Shut up, shut up!” She responded, “We’re gonna miss the next scene!”

Alfred reached forward and grabbed handful of Amelia’s popcorn right out of the bag. He offered some to Matthew, who refused, but put his feet up right next to his sister’s head. This time, Matthew got to lean up against Alfred the entire way through the movie, with the added bonus of kicking Amelia’s pigtails.

* * *

 

“I don’t think camping is anywhere near as bad as you say it is, Daddy.”

Madeline held her hair-tie out for Alfred, both of them seated on the end of her bed.

“Madeline Jones,” He said, looping his daughter’s hair through his fingers, “Zombie sheep are one hundred percent real and you’re grounded for thinking they’re not.”

“What?!”

“Don’t yank, I’ll have to start all over.”

“You can’t ground me over zombie sheep,” Madeline huffed, “That’s dumb.”

“You’re dumb.” Alfred retorted. “Don’t call me for help when sheep are eating your skin.”

He snapped on the hair-tie and let the braid fall over his daughter’s shoulder.

“Fine then, I won’t, because they’re not real.”

The bed creaked when Alfred’s weight lifted off of it, and he planted a kiss on Madeline’s forehead. “Alright, sleep well, sweetheart.”

  
“Hey, Dad?” She asked, stopping Alfred in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

Madeline briefly considered letting slip what she’d seen from the kitchen the other night, her dad kissing Matthew. How she'd left the room and walked back in to see why the door was still open, only to dash away at the sight of Alfred holding Matthew.

_Are you happy? Are you and Matthew dating?_

“Nothing, never mind.” She lied.

"...Don’t let the disease-ridden, little-girl eating zombie sheep bite. They hunt in packs, like Bigfoots.”

“Sure, Dad.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spacing gets weird near the bottom, sorry.

He was up pressed up against Alfred’s chest and straddling him, hands running over the broad shoulders like he was trying to memorize their layout. Matthew could taste Alfred’s coffee on his lips, the mug still sitting idle and abandoned out on the table. They’d both had a designated mug; as well as two coffee cups that Matthew had brought with him.

  
But now, Matthew was dragging his lips over Alfred’s, darting his tongue in and out, and the coffee was forgotten.

  
“Matthew.” Alfred hushed, drawing out each syllable dreamily.

  
The younger man was warm, hot as he pushed Alfred’s shoulders against the couch back. He didn’t feel real; _this_ didn’t feel real, not as Matthew explored Alfred’s chest. The fabric of Alfred’s button-up tugged under Matthew’s fingers and the buttons easily gave way when Matthew tugged at them. His fingers were nimble and quick, the top buttons already hanging open when Alfred went for his jacket zipper.

  
“It’s not important,” Matthew breathed against Alfred’s lips, ignoring the ringing phone behind him, “They can leave a voicemail.”

  
There was a layer of fine blonde hair on Alfred’s chest that Matthew brushed as he worked his way down, taking a moment to spread the shirt open. Alfred was alive under him and Matthew could feel his heartbeat, slinking his hands around Alfred’s chest. He pulled them together, flush up against one another.

  
He started slow, rocking his hips against Alfred’s almost mindlessly. He felt Alfred’s abs tighten, pinching what little belly fat Alfred had before planting a playful kiss on his cheek. If this was a dream somehow caused by late night essays and book planning, Matthew never wanted to wake up.

  
Hands gripped his hips and the two of them rolled together, Matthew leaning his head back to let Alfred at his throat. Wet lips tugged at his skin and Matthew could feel the tips of Alfred’s fingers lift up the back of his shirt.

  
The phone rang again and Matthew cast a dirty glance at it.

  
“ _Stop it._ ” He hissed.

  
“What?” Alfred asked, pulling back from Matthew’s neck with a pop.

  
“Oh, no, no, no, not you,” Matthew said, cupping Alfred’s cheeks, “Definitely not you.”

  
“Oh, good,” The older man sighed, “‘Cause I don’t want to.”

  
Matthew gasped as Alfred grabbed him, tugging Matthew up further into his lap as Alfred sank down.

  
It was a relief in some aspect to Matthew, to know that he wasn’t the only one sporting a pitched tent. He could _feel_ Alfred through their layers of jeans and boxers, nested right beneath Matthew’s hips.

  
Alfred was addicting- teasingly slow kisses and finger marks that made Matthew want to lean forward and growl _“Fuck me”_ into Alfred’s ear, pull him down and let Alfred workout ten plus years of pent up sex drive on him. Right now, right here, in Alfred’s living room, Matthew was so _ready-_

  
The phone rang again.

  
Matthew ended up growling the phrase into Alfred’s ear accidently, coming out more weak and irritated then sexy and wanting.

  
“Here,” Alfred said, and Matthew felt a handprint’s worth of heat disappear off his back, “Just answer it really quickly and see what they want.”

  
“But-”

  
The phone was in Matthew’s face before he could finish his protest. He held it up to his ear, fully intent on hanging up the moment he found out it wasn’t an emergency.

  
“What?!” Matthew barked into the phone.

  
Alfred snorted when seconds later Matthew let out a very sad sounding, “Sorry, Mom.”

  
He could feel Alfred trying to wiggle out from under him, and Matthew clamped his knees around Alfred’s thighs. They weren’t done yet, they hadn’t even gotten _started_ yet, Matthew wasn’t letting go unless-

  
In crushing defeat, Matthew leaned his head against Alfred’s shoulder.

  
“Yes, _maman_ , I’ll go pick up Amy.” He sighed. “Uh huh. _Oui_ , I’ll-”

  
A comforting hand ran across Matthew’s back, and on instinct Matthew held onto Alfred’s shirt.

  
“Ok. I’ll go get her now.”

  
He ended the call and let the phone bounce down against the couch cushions. His heart was still pounding, still wanting to roll on Alfred’s hips and pull the rest of his clothes off.

  
“Well,” Alfred said, petting Matthew’s hair with soft strokes, “You didn’t get much homework done.”

  
All of Matthew’s notebooks and textbooks lay open on the coffee table behind him, ignored in favor of Alfred kisses. Granted, he hadn’t actually planned to get any work done when he came over- the notebooks and supplies were just accesories.

  
“No, I didn’t.”

* * *

 

“Why do you smell like flowers?” Amelia hesitated as she hopped into the van seat, “Are you wearing perfume?”

  
Stalling in the turn-in of the elementary school parking lot, Amelia slammed the door and sniffed at Matthew. He held her off by shoving his palm in her face and forcing her away before rolling down his window.

  
“Just get your seat belt on already.” Matthew huffed.

  
“What’s wrong with your neck? Is that a bruise?”

 

* * *

 

  
Madeline pulled the edges of her sleeves down, the frayed velvet crinkling around her fingertips.

  
“Is this too tight?” Alfred asked, muffled words formed around the spare pin he held in his lips, “Lemme know.”

  
She shifted, judging the tautness of the ribbon around her waist. “A bit, yeah.”

  
Sticking his spare pin through her dress back, Alfred frowned in concentration. He’d pulled Madeline’s old velvet dress out of a storage bin they kept in the closet- It was too short for her, a little tight, and wasn’t aging fantastically. Not to mention she’d sprouted up like a green bean stalk the past few months, nearly too big for a majority of her clothes.

  
Her dress was one Alfred had bought at full price in a nice department store, an impulsive spend of a small Christmas bonus he’d gotten a few years back. It was a burgundy velvet that brought out the more honey colors in her hair, and made her eyes appear warmer, so much unlike her mother.

  
The sleeves were too short, now up around her forearms when they’d originally been at her wrists. The collar was a bit wrinkled and folded at weird angles that Alfred would have to iron out. In all, it’d probably be better for Alfred to just bite the bullet and buy a new dress- _if_ he got another Christmas bonus this year.

  
But, the dress would still work fine for Madeline’s school recital if Alfred worked some magic.

  
“Ouch!”

  
“Whoops, sorry, babygirl.”

  
The black silk ribbon tied around her waist was just barely long enough to tie together in a solid piece still, and Alfred tried to slyly hide it with a bow he’d handmade from extra material. But the bow was crooked; Alfred wasn’t entirely sure how to make it _un_ crooked.

  
“What are we going to do with the sleeves, Dad?”

  
Alfred sighed and pinched at the fabric around her elbow. “Well we could either roll them up or try to hem them. What do you want to do?”

  
“Cut them and cover the raw edges with the black silk?” She suggested, looking over her shoulder at him.

  
“Whatever you say, my princess.”

  
Alfred snipped away at Madeline’s sleeves, fine slivers of velvet falling around her feet.

  
The sound of the scissors and the radio in the background filled the room, pulling the attention away from Madeline’s nervous fingernail picking.

  
She’d seen some of signs that Matthew had been over earlier: four different things of coffee, a notebook that certainly didn’t belong to her father, the way the shoes near the door had been pushed aside. It didn’t take a detective to see the obvious.

  
“Did Matthew come over today?”

  
“For a bit, yeah,” Alfred replied, “Did you see him pick Amy up from school?”

  
“No.”

  
Alfred brushed off the excess scraps that had stuck to Madeline’s arm. They fell on her feet instead.

  
“I want a new dress, Daddy.” She said, watching as Alfred pinned the silk to her sleeve.

  
“I can’t afford a new dress for you, buggie, I’m sorry.”

  
“I know.”

  
_But you can afford to buy Matthew four coffees._

* * *

 

  
He had a hickey.

  
He had a _very_ obvious hickey.

  
Right there on the skin across the side of his neck was a large pink mark, barely tender when he pressed it. Patches of purple were just starting to faintly bloom under the skin, a plum color against his pale skin.

  
_Shit._

  
He pulled on a turtle neck sweater, hoping to hide it before he walked out of his room. Nevermind that it was warm enough in their building to wander around shirtless.

  
“Hey, Eliza?” Matthew asked, peeking around the hallway door to her room, “Are you busy? Do you have any concealer I can use?”

  
The door nearly shut on his fingertips. He backed away as behind the door sounds of shuffling happened, a drawer shutting and another opening. A tiny bottle was shoved at him through the door and Matthew barely caught it before it fell.

  
Matthew was tempted to knock on the door and ask if Eliza was okay, did something happen-

  
“Don't,” Gilbert's rough voice came from the other side, “Don't even try to explain this.”

  
He turned away and paced back to his room quickly, hoping to avoid whatever storm was brewing down the hall.

* * *

 

  
Alfred waited for his daughter to come back downstairs, scratching out another thing to do on his list. _Fix Madeline’s dress_ could finally be crossed off after it’s long time standing on the list, having been written down the past spring.

  
“I’m making great time.” Alfred mumbled to himself, running his finger down along the rest of the list. “I should be done by the time Madeline is twenty.”

  
“Done with what by the time I’m twenty?”

  
Alfred looked up, his daughter a blurry vision in his reading glasses. “Oh, hey sweetheart, I didn’t hear you come down.”

  
“Sorry.”

  
“That’s ok! I picked up those chicken patties you like, do you wanna fry up some burgers with me?” He asked, sweeping his work into a pile. “Maybe watch some Netflix?”

  
Madeline shook her head. “No, I’m okay. I had a big afternoon snack.”

  
Alfred blinked. “Oh.”

  
“I think I’m just gonna go to bed,” Madeline went on, playing with the end of her already braided hair.

  
“...Oh.”

  
Madeline nodded and shuffled out of the room after blurting out a quick good night, leaving Alfred in the dark kitchen alone.

  
“....Goodnight?” Alfred said to the empty spot where his daughter had been.

* * *

 

  
It was too dark of a shade for his skin, but it'd have to do for the time being. It was easy to tell where the makeup was layered and where the edges were if you looked closely, and Matthew tried to blend it in with his hands.

  
It was embarrassing, but he was the tiniest bit proud of himself. He had a _hickey-_ the last time he'd had one of these was freshman year.

* * *

 

  
The light in Madeline’s bedroom was still on, regardless of the door being closed when Alfred went upstairs. Thin filtered yellow light shone from under the crack, but no noise beyond the door. He knocked gently, leaning in against the cool wood.

  
“Madeline?” He asked, “Sweetie?”

  
Nothing.

  
“Are you awake?”

  
“...No.” Came Madeline’s muffled voice.

  
He opened the door, poking his head into the room.

  
“Are you sure?”

  
“...Yes.”

  
“...Are you absolutely positive?”

  
Madeline didn't respond, and reached up to turn off the light instead.

  
\------

  
The storm had finished brewing, only to be completely released into the kitchen.

  
Matthew was caught in the crossfire- across the island counter, Eliza and Gilbert screaming at each other. Yes, screaming, not yelling or shouting, but arguing at such a high volume Matthew had been able to hear it through his headphones all the way in his room.

"I DON'T HAVE TO TELL YOU EVERYTHING I FUCKING DO, GILBERT," Eliza fired, hands at her sides. "YOU'RE NOT MY FUCKING KEEPER!"

She practically spat, loose strands of hair falling out of her top bun and framing her face wildly. Eliza looked wild, no makeup and messy hair, dried mascara lines on her cheeks.

"I'M YOUR BOYFRIEND, ELIZAVETA," Gilbert retorted, his hands gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, "IN WHAT FUCKING UNIVERSE WOULD I BE OKAY WITH YOU KISSING ANOTHER GUY? IF YOU DIDN'T WANT TO BE WITH ME, YOU COULD JUST FUCKING TELL ME!"

The albino man looked just as distraught as Eliza did, minus the mascara. His face was red and despite his best efforts, his eyes were bloodshot. All he was missing was a stream of heated tears running down his cheeks; Matthew supposed that's what was on the crumpled up tissues scattered around the trash can were used for.

There was literally nothing he could do to intervene that wouldn't come out the wrong way. If he left, they'd both blame him for not taking their side. If he stayed and did nothing, he'd get dragged in somehow, and God knows Matthew would panic and say the wrong thing.

He paled- all he'd wanted was his spare maple bar from the fridge. 

"YOU KNOW I DIDN'T MEAN IT! YOU KNOW THAT I CAN'T- I'M NOT-" Eliza struggled, and painfully wiped a stray tear away so hard it left a red mark on her face, "I'M NOT LIKE YOU, GILBERT!"

"THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?" Gilbert yelled, pushing away from the counter and hitting himself in the head with his palms. 

This was _bad_. 

Matthew almost sprinted when Gilbert turned to look at him, irritation and sadness alight in his eyes. He flipped back to Eliza, both of them at a standstill momentarily where neither hardly moved. Eliza, looking like she was ready to go down fighting and Gilbert, torn between pulling his hair and gripping the counter.

In the blink of an eye, he settled for Matthew instead. He grabbed the blond by the shoulders and yanked him from his frozen position, awkwardly and forcefully pulling them together. Gilbert slammed his lips against Matthew's and Matthew's knees buckled under the sudden movement, held up solely by Gilbert's grip on his shoulders.

It was awful and Matthew's glasses poked him in the eyes as they rode up his nose, unable to close his eyes in shock. Gilbert's eyebrow piercing was nerve-rackingly close to Matthew's eyeball, even more so when Gilbert grabbed the back of his neck. It was like he was trying to devour Matthew- Matthew disgustingly aware of Gilbert's tongue in his mouth and hands on his neck.

And in a few seconds it was over, Gilbert's spit on Matthew's lips as he let go of him. Matthew fell and scrambled a few feet away as fast as possible, running himself into a wall before shakily standing up.  
It was a horrific, painful silence in the room as Matthew backed against the wall. Eliza stood still in her spot, hands covering her mouth in shock. Gilbert was frozen as well, like his action had startled him just as much as it had the other two.

"I'm sorry-" Gilbert started, eyes wide and hands still in the air.

"I have a boyfriend." Matthew blurted.

He was backed against the wall, inching away from Gilbert and Eliza, yet further away from the stairs up to his room. 

"I h-ave," Matthew's voice cracked, "A boyfriend I think, and I have to go-"

"Matthew, I'm so fucking sor-" 

Matthew didn't hear the rest of it before he sprinted out of the house, tumbling into his van still in his bear pajamas and fuzzy socks.

He left his maple bar behind.  
_--------------------

Matthew blew through a stop sign turning the corner to Alfred's street and parallel parked completely crooked. He wasn't wearing shoes and hadn't thought about turning around the entire way to Alfred's house, only dully aware that he'd left his phone behind on his desk.

He had a half formed script in his head, a vague explanation to showing up on Alfred's porch in a shirt with the words "I love you beary much!" And zebra striped socks. 

_"Hi, Alfred, I know we've made out a few times and you said you weren't good with dating, but are we dating? Also a friend of mine just kissed me and you left a hickey on my neck from earlier. Ignore the shirt by the way, old Christmas gift from my mom."_

His socks got wet as he ran across the dark sidewalk up to Alfred's house, and the porch light flicked on when he hopped up the first steps. He forgot what time it was as he banged on the door- some nighttime hour when the street lamps seemed brighter than normal. He could hear the faint sound of someone inside making their way to the door.

"Matthew?" Alfred asked when he opened it, "It's almost midnight, what are you doing here?"

Matthew forgot how to talk.

"Why are you in pajamas?" Alfred said, looking Matthew up and down, "I love you beary much?"

Matthew felt his fingernails press into his palm so hard they stung.

"Kiss me." 

Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"Alfred, please kiss me." 

"Yeah, alright." 

He was swept into Alfred's arms like a prince, automatically kicking the door shut behind him.

Flattened against Alfred’s chest, he was still soft with Matthew. He didn’t push, didn’t pull or roughly handle him, just a gentle hand on Matthew’s cheek as they met.

For being a somewhat professional writer. Matthew had a bad way with words. 

"Can I sleep with you?" He asked, his forehead against Alfred’s.

"What!?" Alfred replied.

"I meant," Matthew backtracked, face burning, "Can I spend the night here? Instead of at my dorm." 

A gut reaction after being kissed by someone not blond and blue eyed, with little lines around his eyes and freckles on his eyelids, Matthew had bolted to Alfred’s house. He’d left his things behind- coat, phones, maple bar. 

Whatever it was that’d driven Matthew to Alfred wasn’t sex or even kissing- Matthew put it out of his head by burying his face into Alfred’s chest.

Alfred pet Matthew's hair softly, tucking a loose strand behind his ear. "Of course! Roommates at it again?"

"Something like that." Matthew lied, letting himself drift into the warmth Alfred was giving off. 

"I like your bear pajamas. They're cute." The older man hummed near Matthews hair line. 

"Thanks," Came Matthew's muffled reply into Alfred's chest, "My mom got them for me."

"I'm sure she's a very fashionable lady."

Matthew didn't realize he was tearing up until Alfred asked him what was wrong. He didn’t even have an answer for Alfred.

“Nothing,” Matthew lied again. “Just lonely.”

\----------------------------------

Alfred fell asleep with front of Matthew’s shirt bundled in his hand, spooning the younger man in their sleep.

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm uploading this from my phone, apologies for any weird formatting.

It’s so early in the morning that the sky has yet to brim with pastel colors. The darkness seeps into everything and drowns out whatever light may have tried to sneak in through Alfred's curtains. Rhythmic snoring was the only constant in the darkness aside from the occasional glow of a phone notification. Every once in awhile the house would creak; settling down into its old foundation in the noisest way possible.

 

Matthew had class at eight; two hours away before he had to show up for an elective course he didn't want to take. He decided to ignore the nagging sensation to get up by rolling back into Alfred's arms, pulling the sleeping man's hands up against his chest. Alfred was the human equivalent of sitting in front of a blazing fireplace.

 

It hadn't felt like any time had passed since he'd first shown up on Alfred's doorstep with two blonde girls in tow. But it had- almost excruciatingly slow. Four months (Matthew could hardly believe,but it wasn't entirely unlike him to lose track of time), from very awkward lemonade and flowers to, well…

 

Matthew felt Alfred settle into the spot right behind Matthew's shoulder; similar to the house. His soft lips pressed through the thin fabric of Matthew's shirt. A little part of Matthew's skin warmer than the rest. 

 

He’d never waited this long into a relationship to be intimate with his partner. Hell, he’d  _ started  _ a relationship with a one-night stand in the past. 

 

Alfred snored so loud Matthew felt it in his shoulder blade.

 

Six in the morning, Matthew figured, was not the time to think about sex. He wrapped his legs in with Alfred's and debated how much his grade would drop if he didn't show up for class.

 

* * *

 

 

Alfred's alarm settled Matthew's inner debate for him exactly an hour later. If he got up right now, drove to campus, pulled on clothing not decorated with cute teddy bears,  _ and _ skipped breakfast, he might make it to class on time. 

 

Yet the moment Alfred stirred, every intention of getting out of bed died in Matthew's head. The thinnest haze of sunlight peeked from behind the curtains and Matthew watched as Alfred's face scrunched in annoyance. His freckles bunched as he yawned and Matthew, for the briefest of moments, considered tracing his finger over Alfred’s cheeks. Connecting his freckles like a connect-the-dots came made by someone with no ability to recognize patterns.

 

God, Alfred and his bedhead would be the death of Matthew. If not that then the way Alfred arched his back against the bed would be.

 

“Good morning,” Matthew remarked as he watched Alfred flinch from the phone light as he muted the alarm. “Sleep well?”

 

Alfred sleepily blinked at Matthew before pulling him close.

 

The kiss was soft and, of all things, loving. The way Alfred's first thought after waking up was to kiss Matthew, pulling him tight against his chest. Covers bunched between them and Matthew laid a firm hand on Alfred's chest- part to steady him, part to keep the older man down.

 

An early morning kiss that tasted like icky morning breath. Funny how Matthew's lips were still sore from last night. Matthew had kissed Alfred until all memories of that evening's earlier unsettling kiss were gone and replaced with Alfred's gentle ones, until Matthew's jaw had grown sore. Their lips had been tugged at with teeth, dragged, and sucked on so much that he was genuinely surprised that Alfred's lips were still their normal peach color and not bruised beyond belief.

 

“Very.” Alfred grumbled, voice deep. “You're a great temperature regulator.”

 

Matthew snorted and pushed back against Alfred when he went to sit up.

 

“Stay in bed, get some rest,” Matthew said, pulling his glasses off the bed stand, “I'll take Madeline to school.”

 

Alfred went quiet. “...She needs breakfast.”

 

“I'll make her something warm.” 

 

“She has me look over her homework before school.”

 

“I can do that.” 

 

Pressing against the mattress with his elbows, Matthew looked down on Alfred. He pecked a kiss on Alfred's cheek, then another one to stop Alfred mid-word.

 

“I'll get her off to school, I've taken Amy plenty of times. I know where the drop off is and there's plenty of space for her in my van.” He sat up after one last peck, unintentionally (completely intentionally) straddling Alfred.

 

If he'd thought doing this in jeans on the couch was an indicator of Alfred's size; it was like sitting on a flagpole. Maybe a cucumber was a better size comparison? 

 

He was very hungry.

 

For different things.

 

It was seven in the morning and Matthew's head was hazy; he'd think of a better comparison later.

 

Maybe he'd actually get to see it later.

 

* * *

 

 

His first partner had been Ashlyn Morello, and she'd fallen asleep with her hands down Matthew's pants sophomore year of high school. Matthew remembered not really knowing what to do with her besides pull her hands away and roll her off him. Neither talked about it the next day.

 

They'd broken up a week later- Matthew felt relieved. 

 

They hadn’t talked since graduation.

 

* * *

 

 

"Oh, it's you.”

 

Matthew turned to smile at Madeline, expecting the sweet girl to have fussy hair and bright eyes like normal. Maybe she’d have Amelia’s spectacular bedhead. Instead Matthew was greeted with a glare and a disappointed tone in her voice. Flat eyes and wavy hair clipped back above a dark red turtleneck.

 

She looked like a pissed off goat.

 

“Good morning, Madeline,” Matthew smiled, shaking the frying pan free of its contents. “I made hash browns for you.”

 

“That's nice.”

 

The girl didn’t say anything more as she yanked a chair out. Sat down and stared at the potatos on her plate. Matthew watched hesitantly from the kitchen as he skimmed the top of his coffee- Madeline was just sitting there, unmoving. Glaring down at her plate like it offended her. 

 

“There’s no ketchup.”

 

* * *

 

 

A thousand miles away in the bedroom, Alfred couldn't remember if he'd warned Matthew of Madeline's morning attitude. 

 

He totally had, right?

 

For sure he had.

 

Alfred snored into the pillow and curled up at the loss of his Matthew shaped bed heater. 

 

* * *

 

 

Madeline drenched her hash browns in so much ketchup that Matthew gagged. 

 

“What?” She snapped, looking Matthew dead in the eyes as she crushed the ketchup in her little girl hands.

 

Matthew was reminded of a movie he'd watched with Gilbert and Eliza; the Russian men had killed the discovered spy in a visually similar way that Madeline was holding the bottle. Same color and all. Fast, quick, and brutal.

 

He choked on his coffee and nearly hacked up a lung in the sink instead of replying.

 

* * *

 

 

After Ashlyn, it was Jeremy. He was so cute, with floppy brown hair and a mole under his left eye; Matthew thought it was adorable how he'd laugh like a donkey, and how he had a gap in his teeth. Matthew thought it was love. It certainly felt like love, in the back of Jeremy's car junior year. His hands were so soft and he was Matthew's first time, in the back seat of that old Volvo with ripped seats.

 

Matthew had made so many plans with him, from school to home life. They were going to go to school together; He’d major in English, Jeremy would be a STEM major. They were going to get an apartment in California and adopt a dog after they graduated. 

 

Then it changed to Seattle (Too rainy). Then New York (Too expensive). Orlando (Too hot), Portland (Too weird), Philadelphia (Too old); Anchorage for the short amount of time where Jeremy thought Alaska was interesting. A dog, two dogs, no dogs (Matthew refused that, there had to be at least one dog), cats were always out of the question. Jeremy never made his mind up about anything- Matthew always got settled on an idea too quickly right before Jeremy ripped it to shreds in favor of something brighter and more exciting.

 

Eventually that included Matthew (Too boring, not interesting, dull, a killjoy.)

 

They lasted until their Bordeaux trip. 

 

Matthew always had a feeling that Jeremy knew how cute he was. He proved it with how fast he moved on to someone brighter and livelier than Matthew.

 

* * *

 

 

Madeline picked at a hangnail, sparing the occasional glance at Matthew as the older blond drove her to school. She couldn’t tell if he could notice her glances; pushing her red glasses frames up the bridge of her nose to hide them. From these few glances Madeline had gathered a few things:

One; Amelia and Matthew didn’t look all that much alike. Matthew’s nose was slim and narrow where Amelia’s was more of a button shape, and Amelia’s smile took up her whole face with her wide lips and chubby cheeks. Matthew’s mouth was almost a thin line in comparison, and he had naturally sad, almond shaped eyes rather like Madeline’s own.  

 

Two; Matthew bit his lips so often that they were redder in the spots where his teeth pulled. Madeline didn’t have anything to do with this information. 

 

Three; He stuck his arm out to keep her pressed against the seat back when they stopped suddenly. She appreciated it, but was very tempted to bite him the next time his hand got close to her mouth.

 

Four; He didn’t look as tired as he first had when he’d started showing up. His hair was cleaner and brushed, and his face had color. Good for him. 

 

Five; She’d never, in any of her memories, been driven to school by anyone other than her dad. Which, to her, meant one thing-

 

“Does Dad love you more than he loves me?” 

 

Matthew braked so fast the tires squealed and Madeline stuck her arms out to avoid the seatbelt choking her. He pulled off to the side of the road next to an old softball field and turned to look at Madeline with an expression that Madeline had only seen once before from Alfred; When she’d asked why her mom left. 

 

For a split second she thought he might yell- eyes wide and searching her face, hair rustled. But Matthew wasn’t the yelling type, he hardly spoke above a whisper most of the time.

 

She never wanted to see that expression again. Her dad had been younger, a little softer, thinner, but still able to pull her into a bone-crushing hug where Madeline couldn’t breath. Matthew’s hug wasn’t nearly as tight as her dad’s had been, but the seatbelt restraints between them made up for it. 

 

Six; Matthew was definitely wearing her dad’s clothes. She could smell their laundry detergent as her face was shoved into Matthew’s shoulder. Plus she could tell once Matthew pulled away and she was able to see how much he swam in the clothes. Practically drowned in them. 

 

“What would possibly make you think that?” Matthew asked, his glasses askew. 

 

Madeline shrugged and wiggled away from his hold. 

 

“Madeline-”

 

“He spends all his time with you.” She huffed. She drew her knees up to her chest and shoved her bag down to the car floor. “You’re always over at our house, and he buys you lots of things.” 

 

Matthew turned the car off, forgetting to put it in park first. The van made an awful whirring noise at him as he switched the gears with the engine off. It was comfoting in a way to go from the buzzing of the motor and road noise under her, but she missed the heater.

 

There was a cute family in the park next to them passing around an oversized stuffed ball. The kids were clearly too young for school, and Madeline frowned as the little girl face planted in the dirt as she ran to her parents.

 

“Madeline,” Matthew started, failing to pull the young girl’s attention away, “Do you think that I’m trying to steal your dad away from you?”

 

She watched as the little girl outside was scooped up by a woman in blue dress, cradled in her arms as the girl kicked.

 

“Maybe.” She replied softly. 

 

Matthew snorted on instinct. Madeline didn’t even turn to look at him, instead pressing her face against the cold window. The family out there looked happy, the parents peppering kisses on the young girl’s face until her mother set her down and she toddled back to the ball. She felt Matthew’s hand squeeze her shoulder lightly.

 

“Do you really think that, Madeline?” He asked. His voice was so soft that she doubted she would have heard him if the car was still on.

 

When she was younger, Madeline used to wish she had a set of parents just like the ones out on the field. She wished she had a mom who’d pick her up and kiss her injuries when she fell down, for her mom to braid her hair in sections like the moms in historical shows would do. Someone to kiss her dad when he looked sad, or take her to school events when her dad was so obviously drop dead tired.

 

She looked at the woman on the field, then at Matthew.

 

“No. Not really.” 

 

She sniffled and took off her glasses. 

 

Matthew let out a sad smile, pushing her bangs back. “You're his everything, Madeline.”

 

Madeline didn't say anything, but the sniffle she tried to wipe away spoke volumes. 

 

“Are you sure?”

 

A light, airy laugh bubbled out of Matthew’s chest as he tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. She would’ve been angry if she wasn’t used to how her dad would do the exact same thing when she was sad.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And you’re going to make him happy?”

 

_ That  _ took Matthew back. “I’ll- I’ll try my best, I promise.”

 

Madeline looked at him out of the corner of her now narrowed eyes. A lot of people had tried before.

 

“I will, Madeline, I promise.” He corrected. “And you’re not gonna lose any time with him, I’m not replacing you.”

 

Her little eyes were red and she wiped away her tear streaks with the tissue Matthew offered up. It smelled like woodchips- He’d pulled it out of Alfred’s flannel pocket. 

 

“Good,” She blinked and painfully tugged away the tears in her eyes. “Because he loves you.”

 

There was no response and she turned to look at Matthew’s confused face. It was like looking at a cat who’d just witnessed something horrible; wide eyes and pulled back body language. 

 

“Huh?” He asked.

 

“Isn't it obvious?” She snorted.

 

She said it like it was the most plain to see thing in the world. Like it was a huge blinking red sign hanging above Matthew's head that he'd just been oblivious to this whole time. 

 

“Wow, you're dumb.”

 

This girl had clearly spent too much time around Amelia.

 

“Alfred...loves me?” Matthew asked, slowly. Like he didn't speak English and was trying to confirm what he'd just heard. As if Madeline had just said something in Latin and expected Matthew to understand it right then and there.

 

“You're driving me to school,” She blinked. “Or, you were. And you’re wearing his clothes.”

 

Matthew's turn to blink.

 

“He lets you sleep over with no warning in advance,”

 

Another blink.

 

“He kissed you with no pushing from your end,”

 

Matthew wasn't sure he was physically capable of doing anything other than blinking.

 

“He makes time out of the day for you,” 

 

A car honked down the street.

 

“Daddy's never done anything like that for anyone else before. Not ever.”

 

“...What?”

 

She sighed and shoved her tear rag into the side door pocket. 

 

“I guess, I'm just pointing it out that,” She started slowly, “Out of all the people my dad has dated over the years, you're the only one I can remember him ever leaving me alone with. And you're the first he's ever been excited about seeing. You're the first one I haven't had to push him to go after.” 

 

Matthew remembered something vague Alfred said a thousand years ago; something about people assuming that because Madeline existed, Alfred must only be looking for someone to take care of her. Well, that, and a lengthy rant about someone named Alice that Matthew didn't push to know more about.

 

“So, no, he hasn't told me flat out that he loves you, but…”

 

A car drove past them.

 

“Dad's never had a good way with words.”

 

* * *

 

 

After Jeremy, there was Seth. If that was actually his name. In hindsite, it probably wasn’t. 

 

Seth was Matthew's biggest mistake. 

 

They'd met through Gilbert; Seth was his cousin, just as punk rock and lively as Gilbert. Hot and tattooed, piercings in places Matthew didn't think was possible. He did this thing with his tongue piercing that drove Matthew crazy, as if the punk look didn't already do it for Matthew. Seth was exciting and wild compared to Jeremy, and Matthew thought Seth was who he needed.

 

He had routine sets, but made no distinct plans. It was so easy for Matthew to fall into his circuit of smoking, occasionally going to class, and acting like a general mess. There was no need to make plans for the future besides his book planning; and even that had taken a back seat. It was a miracle that he managed to focus hard enough on  _ The Process of Dandelions  _ to get it finished.

 

Seth was a rough and tumble German man, and Matthew knew that he funneled his puppy crush on Gilbert onto Seth. 

 

But Seth wasn't Gilbert.  

 

Seth was rough.

 

Seth was demanding.

 

Seth once slapped him, and Matthew had ripped a poster down accidentally while trying to catch himself on the wall. He’d stood there in shock while Elizaveta reined hell in the form of a frying pan to the side of Seth's head. The pan had had food still in it- Matthew could remember the  _ kolbasz  _ flying to the floor, hot oil splattering down with it.

 

That was not the change Matthew was looking for.

 

It hadn't hurt much, his eyes didn't even water and it didn't sting, but it was enough for Matthew to come to a shaky realization. No more dating anyone that Eliza didn't approve of.

 

He didn't care to think of Seth much, and the puppy crush on Gilbert died instantly. 

 

(It didn't come back even after Gilbert showed up to his room begging for forgiveness, that Seth was so different than he was when they were younger, Gilbert honestly didn't know.) 

 

(Matthew forgave him. Gilbert didn't bail Seth out of jail when they went to bail out Eliza. Matthew remembered that night perfectly.)

 

(Elizaveta hugged him tighter than his own mother had. Gilbert had given him a kiss on the forehead, and they'd all watched Monty Python in relative silence with Taco Bell.) 

 

* * *

 

 

He didn't want a simply physical relationship. He'd told himself that a million times after he started dreaming of Alfred.

 

Which, in hindsight, was the stupidest decision Matthew had ever made in his whole life. Because now he had an emotional relationship (possibly; certainly on his end), but absolutely no physical relationship.

 

Except for that time he'd tried to ride Alfred on the couch in their clothing. And the time they'd kissed until Matthew was bruised. And the Hickey Alfred left on his neck. And that time in the theater bathroom. And the time Matthew masturbated to the thought of Alfred naked.

 

...Or the dozen other times he'd done it. 

 

He'd parked a bit down the street, giving himself time to take in the frosty winter air and cool atmosphere. For some reason, it didn't feel as cold as it normally did to Matthew. 

 

Madeline had been tardy after their talk because Matthew wasn’t about to speed with his boyfriend’s daughter in his car.  When he dropped her off he didn’t pull away until she was in the school, and she turned to wave at him before she walked in. Matthew’d waved back happily. 

 

Now he shoved his hands in his pockets and wish he’d brought gloves. He didn’t plan on parking so far away from the house, but someone had parked in his normal spot. Or, more likely, their normal spot that Matthew just happened to steal each time he came by. He passed by their car and huffed as he hopped up the steps to Alfred’s house.

 

Alfred had given him a key, and just the thought that Alfred apparently trusted him enough to give him a key made Matthew feel fuzzy.

 

_ “Because he loves you.” _

 

Matthew sighed and leaned his head against the front door. He had the key in, turned and ready to open, but kept his head against the cool wood instead. Little jittery butterflies in his stomach as he recounted Madeline’s words over and over in his mind; Alfred  _ loved  _ him. 

 

He considered getting back in his car and buying Alfred coffee, maybe flowers. Maybe something warm to drink or a warm pastry on this cold morning. But that’d take too long- he just wanted to see Alfred again. 

 

Maybe crawl back into bed with him and cuddle if he was still asleep, or make him pancakes. Wonderful fluffy pancakes with a heart drawn in maple syrup. Matthew pushed the door open and locked it behind him. He stripped free of his jacket and kicked his shoes off, which proved to be difficult in Alfred’s oversized jeans. 

 

Tried to calm the butterflies in his stomach by pressing his hands into the flannel shirt he’d borrowed as he turned to walk into the kitchen.

 

Gagged for the second time that morning as he saw Alfred. The man who loved him.

 

That man, the one sitting and shoving what was left of his daughter's hash brown ketchup soup down his throat. The one in Scooby Doo pants and Matthew's college sweatshirt stretched out across his shoulders and ending a few inches short of his wrists- that one. With ruffled hair and ketchup on his lips.

 

“This tastes real good.” Alfred said around his potatoes, nodding down at the plate. His glasses hung on the end of his nose in a way that suggested he’d just put them on.

 

“That’s revolting.” Matthew grimaced. That didn’t stop the older man as he clearly smirked and went in for another bite, blue eyes peeking over the brim of his glasses at Matthew.

 

“You,” Alfred replied, pointing his fork at Matthew. “Are not wrong. Are those my clothes?”

 

Matthew blanched. He’d stolen a few of Alfred’s clothes this morning, namely his black v-neck, his flannel, and a pair of ripped jeans that Matthew was certain didn’t come pre-ripped. It seemed so very like Alfred to rip his own jeans. Probably by accident, but he was able to play it off. 

 

Alfred was so effortlessly cool, even when he was eating the grossest thing Matthew had ever seen.

 

“Is that my sweatshirt?” Matthew asked, making himself at home in the kitchen. 

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Alfred said, flexing the seams of the poor sweatshirt. 

 

“Mhmm.” 

 

Pastel blue looked excellent on Alfred, Matthew decided, as he brewed a fresh pot of coffee. 

 

“Madeline get off to school okay? You guys got back a bit late.” 

 

Matthew leaned against the counter, making room for Alfred to wash his dish. “Yeah, she got there just fine, eh.”

 

There was something oddly charming about seeing a thirty year old man in cartoon pants washing dishes, and Matthew pondered what it was before Alfred turned on Matthew. His hands were dripping wet and he wiped them on Matthew’s face, beaming.

 

“Oh my god, Al! That water is freezing!”  

“Oh, is it? I had absolutely no idea. S’what you get for staring at me.”

 

Matthew tried to hide away, poorly protecting his coffee from spilling as he laughed and had water flicked at him. Alfred went in for a cheeky kiss and got a splash of coffee in the middle of the college logo instead, brown instantly leaking into the soft blue. 

 

“Aw, shit,” Alfred said, peeling off the sweatshirt to reveal that he wasn’t wearing anything under it. “Your sweatshirt is taking a beating, Mattie.” 

 

The site of Alfred eating the ketchup potatos had thrown off Matthew’s train of thought when he walked into the house, but it all came crashing back when the sunlight bounced off Alfred’s shoulders. When Matthew coould see the rim of Alfred’s boxers above his sweatpants, tight against muscled skin. 

 

“That’s alright.” Matthew replied, mouth dry. 

 

_ “Because he loves you.” _

 

Matthew went in for a drink of coffee that wasn’t there. 

 

He wished he could hear Alfred say that he loved him. He wondered how Alfred would say it- maybe soft and huskily against Matthew’s ear. Perhaps it would be loud and happy and Alfred would be hugging Matthew so tight Matthew folded into him. He was so busy looking at Alfred’s shoulders and tracing the sunlight up and down his spine with his eyes, he missed that Alfred was looking at him. 

 

“Sorry,” Matthew smiled, finally looking up, “What’d you say?” 

 

“I asked what you wanted to do today,” 

 

_ You. _

 

“Since I have the day off and it’s Friday so Madeline won’t be home.”

 

Matthew choked on non-existent coffee, raising the tally for number of times for the day that he’s gagged so far to three. He wondered if that tally would go up at all today, and Matthew flushed such a shade of pink that Alfred’s eyebrows furrowed in concern.

 

“Madeline won’t be home?” He asked, clearing his throat, tenting his shirt to try and get some cool air to his face.

 

“Nah, she and Amy typically spend the night over there.” Alfred shrugged and ruffled his hair. “I think it’s healthy for her, to be around such a full household for a night or two.” 

Matthew nodded. 

 

Alfred went on about something related to the two girls, leaning against the counter with his palms pressed against the smooth surface. The sun was behind him like a halo and Matthew lost track completely of what Alfred was saying. 

 

He had a lot of emotions in his head, all equaling up to one big one. One he didn’t quite know how to say out loud to Alfred; one he didn’t quite understand until his talk with Madeline less than an hour ago. It was nine in the morning and Matthew smiled softly when Alfred beamed; a smaller version of the sun right there in the kitchen. He set his coffee down on the counter.

 

“Hey, Alfred?” He interrupted the older man. 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“Close your eyes.” 

 

“I- Alright.” Alfred agreed, letting his eyes flutter shut. 

 

Alfred was just as pretty in the kitchen light as he was in the bedroom light, and Matthew swept his fingers over the freckles on Alfred’s cheeks. The older man smiled and peeked out from under his eyelashes. He stole Matthew’s thunder and leaned forward into the kiss, stealing the breath Matthew didn’t realize he was holding right out from under him. 

 

“That’s not fair.” Matthew laughed against Alfred’s cheek.

 

“Mmm, don’t care.” Alfred smiled, tugging Matthew into another kiss. 

 

He tasted like ketchup and Matthew pulled back to snort into Alfred’s shoulder. 

 

“Oh, c’mon, I know I’m not that bad of a kisser,” Alfred grinned as he stood up to his full height so he could move his arms, “What’s so funny?” 

 

“You taste like ketchup.” 

 

“Is that is? You taste like coffee and morning breath,” He retorted, “Because I know you didn’t brush your teeth before you left.”

 

He wasn’t completely wrong- Matthew didn’t have a spare toothbrush and made due with mouthwash and a paper towel. His mother would be disgusted, and so was he. 

 

“I’m not saying you have to, but if you want to, there’s an unopened spare one in the bottom drawer. Seems that you and Amelia have something in common after all.”

 

He turned to make his way to the bathroom, only for Alfred to pull him back. He held Matthew’s face in his hands and kissed him all the way from one end of the kitchen to the other, leaving Matthew pressed up against the wall to the hallway. A soft kiss that lit Matthew’s whole chest on fire. Matthew went to dig his fingers against Alfred’s chest and press them so close that Matthew could feel his heartbeat.

 

“...Matthew?” Alfred asked, dragging his lips up Matthew's cheekbones.

 

Matthew whined and tried to kiss Alfred again, but the older man mover his face away to look Matthew in the eyes. It wasn't a entirely happy look, to Matthew's dismay.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Don't you have class today?”

 

Shit.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is so incredibly late! School and life have gotten out of hand and fic writing has taken a backseat. This chapter ran a lot longer than I meant it to (Like,,, 23 pages), so what's posted right now is only roughly a third of it. I don't have a time frame for when the rest of it will be up, but soon is the answer.
> 
> And, once again, I just want to say that I'm so happy people like this story. I can't believe that something I originally meant to be two chapters some how became one of my favorite aus, but I'm thankful it is. I love getting all the comments and kudos from people who take a chance on this story, it brightens my day every time I get one of the email notifications. Thank you so much


	12. Chapter 12

If confidence was the key, then turning down the salesperson’s offer to help was the lock. Anyone could tell under the florescent store lights that Alfred was at a loss; juggling two different boxes like they were vegetables being compared for their ripeness. But unlike vegetables, condoms weren’t something a person could thoroughly examine and inspect in a supermarket without criticizing looks from strangers. 

 

By all means Alfred could have just asked the overeager employee lingering in the aisle for help; but he could also just as easily run out in front of a moving car, which seemed much less embarrassing. He couldn’t count on both hands how many years it’d been since he’d last bought condoms. Now there were so many options to choose from: Plain or shaped, studded or textured, flavored, and whatever the hell ‘warming cinnamon sensations’ meant.

 

Alfred warily put the warming ones back after a closer examination. He’d ask Matthew later- or maybe just stick to googling it. The other box, the plain box, was squashed against his chest as Alfred tried to hide it from prying eyes, like some dirty little secret. His fisherman sweater felt uncomfortably itchy and somehow too large on him as he left the comfort of the pharmacy aisle.   

 

Well, that wasn’t too bad.

 

“Mr.Jones!” 

 

Alfred walked into a display and took out a sale sign.

 

“Alfred!”

 

He hastily stood up, nearly crushing the condom box in a rushed haze of panic and apologized to the sign.

 

“Hi, Dad!” 

 

God was dead, and Alfred single handed killed him as he drop kicked the condom box down a random aisle as hard as he could.  

 

“H-Hey, sweet pea! Amy! Miss Laura, long time no see! What are you lovely ladies doing out today?” He cleared his throat and pretended not to notice the employee who curiously picked up the now dented box. 

 

Scrunching his daughter’s hair in a robotic head pat, Alfred beamed at the three. Laura, bless her heart, didn’t register the employee who walked past them and  _ glared  _ at Alfred. The poor box was beyond any hope of repair and little foil packets were threatening to fall out- probably because a grown man kicked it half way down a snack aisle.

 

“We got outta school early.” Amelia answered. The girl was curled up inside the cart among various cans and toiletries, and was using the stack of paper towels as a seat. “Teacher’s meeting.”

 

Laura’s smile almost broke Alfred. He’d known her going on years now- his daughter practically lived at her house a good chunk of the time, and various school events brought them together enough that Alfred was no stranger. They were friendly with each other to the point that Laura would send Madeline home with cookies more often than not, and Alfred returned the gift by babysitting every date night. 

 

“I had a few errands to run, figured the girls would like to come along with me!” Laura smiled, a slight song in her voice from a belgian accent that never quite went away. “And later I’m going to teach little Madeline to make French madeleines.” 

 

Her cheeks were a soft rosy color that stretched across her delicate facial features when she laughed, a slim nose and chubby cheeks. Framed with a hair color Alfred would call Strawberry Honey Blonde that fell in sweet little ringlets to her shoulders, Laura was the spitting image of Matthew. She had more fine lines here and there, and her lips were more curved but they were so unmistakably mother and son whereas Amelia looked more like she belonged to Alfred.

 

Alfred almost cracked.

 

Madeline peeked around Alfred's legs and down the surrounding aisles. “Is Matthew with you, Dad?” 

 

That, Laura caught. Her pale green eyes widened and her lips curled in an almost cat-like smile. “Oh! Are you and Matthew seeing each other, Alfred?”

 

Amelia snorted loudly and Madeline kicked the cart hard enough for it to squeak against the floor.

 

The feeling of ice ran through Alfred’s entire body. “Seeing-

 

“The girls have told me about how often you two seem to be running into each other. I’m so glad my Matthew has a place to go if he needs someone to rely on,” Laura went on,”Thank you for being such a friend and role model to him, Alfred.” 

 

Relief calmed his stomach but nervousness made Alfred lose the feeling in his legs.

 

“Oh, well, I- thanks. Yeah, we've… hung out a few times, he's a cool kid. Interesting.” 

 

He chose to leave out the part where they’d been dating for a while. Or made out. Or how that very morning, they'd woken up in bed together, and Matthew had looked like an angel in Alfred’s old- 

The sweet woman had reached forward to pat Alfred’s cheek and he caught a whiff of her perfume. She smelled like hot sugar and the inside of a bakery; Like maple and hot sugar. It was almost exactly like the smell of the maple thing Matthew loved so much from the coffeeshop. 

 

“Oui, petit amour. Well, we’d better be off if we want to get baking.” She said with a smile. “Jusqu'à ce que nous nous retrouvions, Alfred.” 

 

“...Right.” He replied nervously. “Right back at you, Laura.” 

 

Her eyes shone as she wheeled her daughter down the adjacent aisle, leaving Madeline there for a brief moment. The girl bit her lip as Alfred squatted down to meet her.

 

“Alright, the hell’d she say?” He asked quickly. His daughter had spent enough time around the faux mother figure that she’d picked up little phrases here and there in French, and had become Alfred’s right hand translator. 

 

Madeline giggled. “Until we meet again.”

 

He nodded and pretended to understand what that meant. “Alright then. Okay, go catch up, I’ll see you monday babygirl.”

 

She jogged off to meet them in a random aisle, and Alfred spent the next few minutes sheepishly hunting down the employee who'd glared at him. 

 

“Could I maybe get that box back?”

 

* * *

 

 

A backpack full of squishy clothes landed on the couch after Alfred tossed it, spinning back around in his spot to pull Matthew in for another kiss. The younger man was donned in clothing that made Alfred want to squeeze him; A trimmed and fitted sweater the color of oatmeal, tight black jeans that lacked any rips or tears, and classy Oxford shoes that were left behind in the hallway. But best of all, Matthew’s hair was apparently long enough to be pulled into a tiny ponytail, leaving a few strands framing his face.

 

Alfred twirled them between his fingers when he tilted Matthew’s chin back to kiss him. He held him close like he was somehow going to slip away, Matthew returning the gesture by looping his hands around the small of Alfred’s back. 

 

“Missed you,” Alfred breathed.

 

Matthew laughed and buried his face in Alfred’s shoulder. “I’ve only been at class for a few hours.”

 

“Mmm too long. You need to sleep over more.” 

 

His laugh reverberated in Alfred’s chest before being pulled away with a pat. He caught Alfred’s eye; Alfred looked down at his with an expression that Matthew couldn’t quite match. Dreamy and lost in a sort of way, like he wasn’t sure Matthew was real and physically there in front of him. 

 

“That’ll make Eliza and Gil happy, I’m sure.” Matthew replied, and Alfred lost his dreamy expression. “They’re awfully… encouraging.”

 

_ “If you’re going to sleep at your boyfriend’s house, you need to be protected.” _

 

_ “We actually….we haven’t...not sex yet.” _

 

_ “What?! Just get a move on with it already, birdy, make with the fucking!”  _

 

“Mattie?” 

 

Swimming back to reality, Matthew shook off his own glazed over look and watched Alfred lift his bag. If only the man knew that bag wasn’t just full of Matthew’s clothes.

 

“I asked if it was okay to drop this in my room?” 

 

“Oh!” Matthew blushed and followed Alfred curtly. “Of course, sorry, eh.”

 

“It’s cool, don’t sweat it.” Was the response. “I ran into your mom today. And, conveniently, my own daughter and her twin. Your mom made a french pun at me.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah, she said she was gonna teach Madeline to make-”

 

Matthew interrupted him. “No, you ran into my mom?” 

 

Alfred turned to face him, setting the bag down in the corner. It seemed to deflate if possible, settling down onto the floor in a squishy pile. “Yeah? Is that a problem?”

 

“No, no, I was just,” His voice stalled and he cleared it awkwardly, “Did she say anything about me?” 

 

The bed creaked in defiance as Alfred settled down next to Matthew, one leg on the floor and the other folded under him. “She just said she was glad to know I was there for you.”

 

“Oh.” Matthew sighed in relief and Alfred tried to help by running a hand through his hair. “I was worried that Amelia would have told her about us. You know how she is, the little blabbermouth.” 

 

The older man laughed and ran his thumb along Matthew’s cheek, nestling his whole hand into the other’s hair. Matthew melted into the touch and buried his face against Alfred’s palm, sinking against the work hardened skin of Alfred’s fingers as they ran through his hair, petting him gently. It was a alluring touch that Matthew sought out more by scooting closer to Alfred and leaning against his chest, pulling out his hair tie and dropping it somewhere on the floor.

 

It was the softest, sweetest moment that Matthew had ever experienced. It was warm and safe, like being snuggled under a comforter. He felt so open he thought thet made his heart would roll right out of his chest, or that he’d fall asleep in Alfred’s arms. Which he knew from past experience to be a very warm and comforting feeling that he never wanted to lose.

 

“Hey, Al?” Matthew purred. He could tell Alfred now, right now in the safety of his bedroom tucked away from the world, that he loved him. 

 

Sure, it made his heart race and gave him the same rushed feeling in his gut that he got when vomiting but he could  _ tell him-  _ let Alfred know that Matthew wanted to stay right here forever. Wanted to stay tucked against Alfred’s palm and chest, settled next to him on a bed that they had shared. It was warm and welcoming and in one moment Matthew had turned to face Alfred, throwing a leg over his lap to straddle him.

 

Alfred cleared his throat, startled by the sudden movement. “Yeah?”

 

Matthew lost his nerve and for a few blank moments Alfred searched his face while he struggled. Words wouldn’t some but a high squeaky note did instead, and Alfred cocked an eyebrow that made Matthew’s breath hitch. He laughed and Matthew’s world spun a million different directions, mixing with the nausea to the point where Matthew could only find grounding in his lips against Alfred’s.

 

“Matthew?” Alfred managed to ask around Matthew’s lips. 

 

It was like an out-of-body experience when Matthew pushed Alfred back against the bed with a sharp hiss and fell on top of him, trying to kiss the older man into the bedspread. Like he was trying to suck the air out of Alfred’s lungs with his own lungs. He lost control for the briefest of moments and when it came spinning back, Matthew gasped. Shooting up stick straight he stared down at hazy blue eyes.

 

“Oh.  _ Oh,  _ oh my god, I’m sorry,” Frantic apologies fell out of his mouth faster than he could keep up. “I’m so sorry, is your back okay?” 

 

Alfred stared up at him. Dead silence for a few moments where neither moved.

“It’s fine.” Alfred said. Matthew felt himself be pulled back down to Alfred’s lips. 

 

He didn’t stop Alfred when the older man rolled them both over so he was on top, and Matthew greedily trapped Alfred’s hips between his legs. He’d had this  _ exact  _ fantasy before and knew it step by step from solo rehearsals that he made sure Alfred never found out about. A roll of his hips, a tugging bite against Alfred’s lower lip, a heated and breathy sigh as Alfred responded by grinding against him.  

 

Weighted grinds from one set of hips to another as Alfred rocked and Matthew pushed, kissing each other needily. Matthew snaked his hands under Alfred’s shirt and tugged until Alfred was forced to break away and rip his shirt off, sending it flying before he pounced back on Matthew. It was months of buildup and now Matthew was free to touch, touch however much he wanted and  _ be  _ touched as his own sweater was pulled over his head. 

 

It was slow and killing Matthew slower in the way he had to urge Alfred on. He was so hesitant in his rocks and kisses, his lips skimming over the younger man’s throat and collar. His hands were so teasingly close to Matthew’s hips that every time one of Alfred’s hands dipped lower, Matthew would involuntarily jerk up to meet him. 

 

Matthew whined, coming out in a higher pitch than he meant when Alfred’s fingers brushed under the rim of his pants, hastily pulled away. He caught the older man's hand and laced their fingers together. A sharp rut of his hips and heavy sigh in the space between them (what little there was). Heels dug in against Alfred's sighs and Matthew tried to imagine the jeans between them being gone. How his skin against Alfred's would feel, so blistering hot he'd melt and all that would be left would be the beautiful mess Alfred created.

 

Then Alfred stopped. Bated breath next to Matthew's head as Alfred stopped moving entirely but lingered in their shared space. Baited and- baited and  _ pained _ as the hand in his tightened. Alfred sunk into Matthew's embrace and Matthew could see just the corner of his expression when he turned his head.

 

One of his lips was white from being bitten, the skin showing little teeth indents from where the teeth dragged. His eyes were shut tight and brow furrowed; Alfred was in  _ pain.  _

 

“Al?” His legs unfolded from their place against Alfred's hips and hit the bed with a thunk. “Alfred?” 

 

A nod that Matthew took as a response. He moved his arms as much as he could without upsetting Alfred, dislodging his right hand enough to caress the side of his face. He waited for a reaction that didn't come.

 

“Can you move at all?” 

 

A very strangled sounding response. “Yeah. Just- just need a moment.”

 

“Of course, take your time.” Matthew traced his knuckles down Alfred's neck, pausing when he ran over a knot. His shoulders seemed to sag in relief when Matthew pushed against it in soothing circles, so that's what he did. He existed in silence while listening to the hitch in Alfred's breath as he kneaded the tender skin. 

 

He'd wanted to melt into Alfred only moments ago, now hoping the reverse would happen when the older man shuddered if Matthew pushed too hard. Feather light kisses placed down his cheeks to his shoulders, across the heavy dusting of freckles Alfred had mired over his skin. Maybe he couldn’t kiss Alfred better but he’d damn well  _ try _ for as long as Alfred would let him, letting his lips linger over warm and tanned skin. 

 

“Do you want me to help?” 

 

“No, I-” Alfred paused. With a weighted breath he lifted himself up, torso shaking as he rolled off the younger man. “I'll be fine.”

 

He didn't seem fine if the pained grunt was anything to go by. Alfred dragged himself up to the pillows and collapsed on them.

 

“M’fine babe, really.” He tried to comfort. Matthew as he crawled up to face him. “Nothing to worry about.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Positive.” 

 

Matthew didn't believe him as he settled down against Alfred's thighs again. “I pushed you too hard, didn't I?”

 

A shrug. 

 

“Alfred.”

 

“Maybe a little but, Matthew, please, don't worry. It's really nothing you did, okay?” 

 

The house fell quiet. In the evening with no background television or radio, no children running around and bring havoc, and the lightest of drizzles against the side of the house, Matthew frowned. 

 

He could fix this.

 

“There's absolutely nothing I could do?” 

 

It always worked out in his books.

 

“I don't know what you could possibly-” Matthew shut Alfred's lips closed with his own. He could feel Alfred's heartbeat under his palm and the solid thump of it under warm skin while he caged the other man in. 

 

He'd never quite been one for topping; or maybe rather, his partners had never been ones for bottoming. Jeremy liked control and Seth certainly liked dominance, and Matthew had always been the first to initiate a one night stand. It was habit that formed from a want to be sweet and soft and dear  _ god  _ Matthew realized how dumb that sounded as he ran his fingers down Alfred's arms. How absolutely absurd that he never wanted to take the initiative- letting Alfred kiss him first, letting Alfred pay for their first date, literally avoiding the topic until someone else showed up and threatened it.

 

(Even if that person was Alfred's brother. Matthew was counting it anyways.)

 

The button on Alfred's jeans came undone through nimble fingers, and a soft rose spot started to bloom on his collar.

 

“I’m sure there's something I could do, Al.”

 

He wondered when Alfred last had a blowjob. Had it been years? There was no possibility that Matthew was the first one to every venture into this territory. Matthew wet his lips as he trailed down Alfred's chest with little kisses, stopping to work another pink spot in the V where Alfred's hips disappeared under his waistband. Glancing up showed him Alfred's searching eyes, and Matthew propped himself up.

 

He smirked when Alfred blushed. “This would be easier without pants.” 

 

He wrote so often about the little sensual touches that he usually missed out on. Flings weren't into slowly undressing their partner and leaving little drawing kisses against heated skin. A cheek pressed against a calf, then ran down bare thighs as he threw Alfred's pants across the room.

 

Alfred's eyes were dilated and watching every single one of Matthew's moves like a hawk. Matthew fawned for him as he placed a kiss through Alfred's boxers. It'd been a while- but not long enough for Matthew to forget what worked and what didn't. Slow and steady and making sure to pay attention everywhere worked better than his younger self’s attempt to deep throat, and he smiled when Alfred let out a low moan. 

 

“Matthew-” A drag of Matthew's hot tongue had Alfred’s voice faltering. “Mattie, I want- 

 

A kiss and a swirl around the head made Alfred's hips buck. His fingers slipped in against Matthew’s hair and tangled with the blond strands, tugging Matthew’s head back. Alfred’s head swam as he looked down at Matthew’s flushed face, his pink lips shiny and swollen, eyebrows perked in surprise. He was beautiful; so beautiful with his long eyelashes and the little swallow he gave when he looked up.

 

“Alfred?” He worriedly asked, wiping away a strand of spit from his mouth. 

 

Alfred forgot how to speak. 

 

“Am I doing something wrong?” 

 

“I bought condoms today.” 

 

Matthew sucked him back in before releasing him with a pop of his lips. A brush, a lick, and one last kiss before Matthew pulled himself up on his knees.

 

“Are you saying that you want to-”

 

“Yes!” 

 

“But your back-”

 

“Please?” 

 

The hand in his hair had fallen away and instead was used to support Alfred as he tried to sit up. Matthew stopped him with a hand to his chest, pressing Alfred back against the pillows before leaning forward to kiss him. He was asking again- making sure Alfred was okay through his kisses, gauging how much he could take before Matthew’s weight was too much. It didn’t seem to be a question once Alfred pulled him down and Matthew fell against him, lying on Alfred’s torso.

 

“I- Okay, yes, I- Let me-” Matthew struggled and adjusted his glasses to see Alfred’s close face better. “Let me get everything together, I came prepared, hang on.” 

 

Alfred grinned and Matthew backed off of him. He practically flew towards his backpack in a rush to get there, digging through the contents to pull out a plastic baggie. A few condoms, lube, and various other things Matthew hadn’t been sure he would need but was now immensely thankful for. 

 

“There’s a bag in the closet-” 

 

Matthew sat back on his ankles when he finally got a hold of the box. It was dented, broken in and little foil packets had fallen out into the grocery bag they’d been held in. Something in his brain clicked. 

 

“Didn’t you say you saw my mom earlier?” 

 

Alfred’s face was priceless when Matthew turned around and approached the bed; foil packets and bottle in hand. 

 

“Yes. Yes I did.” He responded in a hushed voice as Matthew set the things down, slowly stripping off his sweater at the foot of the bed. Alfred watched intently and Matthew stretched his arms. 

 

Matthew tried not to think about whatever conversation he’d have to have with his mom when they saw each other next. Another late night fantasy was happening right before him and he couldn’t afford to miss it because of his  _ mom  _ of all things.

 

He went to unbutton his jeans and his heart skipped when Alfred bit his own lip. He was so nervous he was shaking, nails scraping against his own skin as he fussed with his button, thinking of all the ways Alfred could (and would) be disappointed. Matthew was smaller than him size wise, he didn’t have the toned muscles Alfred did, he was lacking any resemblance of hair on his chest that seemed so prepubescent in comparison.

 

“The condoms,” Alfred’s voice interrupted right as Matthew unbuttoned his pants, ”I kicked them down the aisle as hard as I could before your mom saw and an employee yelled at me.” 

 

Matthew laughed, and removing his pants became much less sexy as they crumpled in a heap. He was baring it all in front of Alfred, but was too preoccupied laughing to be nervous. Or at least significantly less nervous. 

“How sexy of you, Mr.Jones.” Matthew retorted, climbing up onto the bed with necessities in hand. 

 

“Thanks, I try.” Was the reply as Alfred leaned up to kiss him. He helped pull Matthew into his lap and took the opportunity to run his hands down the younger man’s sides, tracing the outline of his hip bone and circling the little divot that ran between his thighs. Alfred’s hands were calloused and firm and Matthew under them. 

 

Alfred pressed back against the pillows to make more space; Matthew laid down on his chest, one arm braced on a pillow so he could look down at the other man. He was full body blushing and he could feel every heartbeat like it was rocking his whole body as he met Alfred’s eyes; blown out and wide, searching every one of Matthew’s features. 

 

“Do you want to…?” Matthew held the lube up awkwardly, shifting when Alfred took it from him with a nod. A clicking noise as the warmth of Alfred’s hands left and Matthew shivered involuntarily. He buried his face in Alfred’s neck, taking both of their glasses off and tossing them out of reach. 

 

Alfred moved slow, wrapping his hand around Matthew’s half-hard member first before tugging. That was the exact moment Matthew knew he was doomed. The older man was so hesitant and gentle that Matthew’s heart fluttered and he rolled his hips into the warm hand under him; he wasn’t even prepped yet. 

 

“How should I- How do I do this?” Alfred laughed nervously. Matthew’s head shot up and nearly collided with Alfred’s nose.

 

Alfred didn’t know.

 

_ Of course Alfred wouldn’t know.  _

 

Matthew reached down and laced his fingers in with Alfred’s, urging him further down and adjusting so Alfred could reach. 

 

“Here, start slow.” He was face to face with Alfred, but couldn’t meet his eyes. “But not too slow.”

 

Alfred’s fingers slipped down between his cheeks and Matthew settled back down as Alfred worked in slow circles. “Yeah, like that. Then just-” 

 

A gasp cut off his instructions as a finger slipped in. He shifted, trying to adjust, and Alfred turned his head to kiss him. Matthew got lost for a few minutes in lips and the subtle shift of his hips to meet Alfred’s fingers, tugging on a lip at two fingers and shuddering at three. A bolt of lightning could strike Matthew right then and there and he’d die happy. He let out a moan when Alfred crooked his fingers and Matthew was gone again, pressing back with force and a few gasps. 

 

“Is this good, Matthew?” 

 

Matthew moaned, but whined when the fingers were withdrawn. He wanted  _ more-  _ Alfred pressed up to meet him, and Matthew remembered there was so much more available. Matthew lifted himself up straight and placed a balancing hand on Alfred’s abdomen, already missing the solidness of Alfred's fingers. He grabbed the lube and reached down to stroke Alfred, spreading the slick substance in slow strokes. 

 

He met Alfred's wide eyes as he positioned himself to sink down, wiggling in discomfort until he was bottoming out. He was breathless and for a split second forgot where he was, who he was on. He squeezed his knees to Alfred's ribcage and flexed his core muscles, letting out a concerning sob-like sound. 

 

“Mattie?” Alfred asked, trying to calmly rub circles against Matthew's thighs. He didn't want to move, wanted to stay still- so still he'd freeze in Matthew's embrace because, oh  _ god,  _ what if he'd hurt him? 

 

“It's,” Matthew gulped, “It's okay, Alfred, I'm fine. I just needed a moment. You're…”

 

He smiled at Alfred, who's terrified face didn't disappear.

 

“You're bigger than what I usually take.” Matthew smirked. He rolled his hips and Alfred gaped at him, moving along with the movement fluidly. “I needed a second to adjust.”

 

“Right.” 

 

He started slowly and sweetly with calculated muscles as he moved. He’d bend to kiss Alfred then sit back up and roll like it was something he’d done thousands of times. Matthew’s palms fit in against Alfred’s chest and his butt in Alfred’s hands, bucking into a steady rhythm. It was rich and excellent and Alfred dug his heels into the bed to help steady himself. 

 

But it wasn’t enough. 

 

Matthew was moving so as not to hurt Alfred, keeping it light. Despite having sank down on him, Matthew kept his pacing a slow ride that made Alfred wet his lips in anticipation. The younger man would run a hand through his hair and lean back out of Alfred’s reach, biting his lip like some untouchable deity that Alfred was simply under.

 

“Matthew?”

 

A very contented sounding  _ hum.  _ Alfred was positive now that Matthew was holding back- he wanted to be more pleasurable than just a  _ hum.  _

 

He  _ needed _ Matthew; needed more what the younger man was doing. He wanted to hold him and kiss him and feel Matthew under him, his nails against Alfred's back as Alfred thrust into him. He wasn't getting enough of Matthew with the small thrusts and balanced lifts. Realistically he knew that’d have to wait for another day, but the reality was torturous. 

 

“Matthew,” Alfred said, holding tight onto the man's hips, “Matthew,  _ stop.” _

 

He froze mid-stride. Half of Alfred was in him, Matthew panting with little beads of sweat on his cheeks. He was shaking from holding back, eyes immediately snapping open like he’d been waiting for this moment. “What's wrong? Does this hurt?”

 

Alfred shook his head as he lifted Matthew the rest of the way off of him, the younger man fussing over him. He was already spilling apologies to Alfred like he couldn’t hold them in and he  _ had  _ been holding them in the entire time, but Alfred didn’t let any of them sink in. He twisted to fix his pillows and hoist himself up from laying to sitting. 

 

No words were passed from Matthew to Alfred as the latter pulled the former into his now adjusted lap, kissing him silent. They slotted perfectly together with Matthew’s knees hugging Alfred’s hips and his arms slipping around Alfred’s chest. The headboard supported Alfred’s back as Matthew settled back on him without any hesitation, Alfred rolling his head back and hitting the wall shockingly hard. 

 

“Alf-” 

 

“M’Fine.” He answered with a hungry kiss and Matthew willingly gave back. “Please don’t hold back, Mattie.”

 

Something clicked in the younger man. Their rhythm picked up like it’d never paused, Matthew’s head thrown back as he moaned. Pressed so close together that Alfred’s hands could overwrap nearly to his elbows. 

 

Now frenzied and reassured he could move without hurting Alfred, Matthew threw himself in fully. He was hanging onto the other man like they’d fall apart if he didn’t, their shared moans and gasps keeping them glued to each other’s necks. After a few minutes Matthew could swear his throat had been kissed raw with scraping teeth and accidental bites when Matthew thrusted too hard.

 

“G-God, Matthew, I-” Alfred managed, his nails digging into Matthew’s hips, “ _ Fuck.”  _

 

“Ah-Alfred!” Matthew would’ve responded if he could beyond that. He was gone completely, incapable of little more than shaky moans muffled against Alfred’s shoulder and throaty squeaks with every thrust of his hips. He was scratching the ever living hell out of Alfred’s shoulders and upper back, and while the bed didn’t creak an abnormal amount, the headboard was close to making a dent in the wall. 

 

He never, ever wanted to part from Alfred. A godly force couldn’t pull him away now even if it tried. Matthew could hear  _ so much noise,  _ and the raw pain in his throat suggested that it was probably him _ yelling _ . For a moment he was blind, he had to be from how tight his eyes were shut- he so clearly wasn’t when his head was pulled back and he looked into Alfred’s eyes; until he physically couldn’t and they screwed shut.

 

Matthew lost it right then and there, and finished in Alfred’s lap with a shuddering gasp and a half yell. He collapsed against the broad chest before him, murmuring little encouragements in Alfred’s ear.

 

He could feel Alfred come a second later with hard nails dragged down Matthew’s spine, and a deep growl that delved into desperate panting. Matthew hadn’t even felt one of Alfred’s hands in his hair, just the removal of it as Matthew was hugged tight. 

 

“Holy shit.” Matthew heard Alfred say. That hardly summed it up, but Matthew responded with a:

 

“Jesus.” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

One of them laughed and Matthew wasn’t entirely sure which of them it was. He was sweaty and clinging to Alfred, boneless and practically trembling. 

 

Neither of them moved beyond holding each other and breathing. Matthew’s hair was fluffed and poofy around his ears while Alfred’s was plastered to his forehead, the cute cowlick weakly sticking up. Time seemed to slow as they moved; slowly kissing with swollen lips and sweaty foreheads that bumped together. 

 

Matthew collapsed the moment he lifted himself off Alfred, folding onto the bed like a ragdoll. He hazily watched Alfred tie off the condom and lazily chuck it off the bed.

 

“Clean later.” He drawled when Matthew squinted at him. Matthew nodded and tugged at Alfred to lie down with him. 

 

He didn’t fall asleep as much as he just passed out right in Alfred’s still cooling arms.

* * *

 

 

Alfred couldn’t stay asleep as long as Matthew and within a few hours he was blinking the sleep away. According to the clock it was roughly 4 in the morning; Alfred had no clue how much time had passed. The sleeping man beside him didn’t stir when Alfred got up and wiped himself down with a washcloth, padding off to the kitchen after and downing almost the entirety of the gallon of milk in the fridge. 

 

He recognized on some level that that was disgusting of him to do; most of him didn’t care. He  _ ached,  _ muscles tingling in pain and fresh pink skin in stripes down his back. It was like his own personal autopilot had kicked on, dragging him this way and that in his house. Picking up their clothing, putting away the extra lube and condoms, and placing Matthew’s bag by the desk before Alfred sank back into bed.

 

Matthew automatically curled around him when Alfred got in and Alfred let himself get tangled up. Blond hair, pale skin, and sleepy french words that Alfred didn’t understand.  So much he didn’t understand. But if there was one thing, any certain thing he understood in the darkness of his room and Matthew’s steady breathing, it was that he loved the man in bed with him. 

 

Dear God, he loved him.

 

Matthew and his books that had dedications to himself. Matthew with his near purple eyes and round glasses that sat a little too low on his face. 

 

Matthew and that dumb blue sweatshirt.

 

He fit so perfectly into Alfred’s life it was almost uncanny; Alfred, Matthew, Madeline, and Amelia were not the family Alfred expected to end up having. 

 

From the first moment he'd held Madeline in his arms back when she was just a nameless infant in a stubby pink hat, Alfred was taken. The initial rush of holding a tiny little person he'd had a hand in making made Alfred dizzy and heavy. He'd gotten the idea that his world had ended that night, but it shattered the second he looked at Madeline. Madeline was his new world. His new everything. It wasn't just him, nineteen years old and on his own with nothing but his car and whatever clothes he'd shoved into his bag. He had a baby human that made Alfred feel like he was sinking every time she blinked up at him.

 

All the blood in Alfred's body seemed to grow heavy when he held his teeny daughter. She was so,  _ so  _ small and he was just one teenager with a high school diploma and no where to go. He couldn't go home; Arthur was already furious that Alfred had turned down adoption. He couldn't drive into the sunset until he ended up a thousand miles away; Madeline needed him. She needed stability and god she's need so many things- baby things like diapers and formula, and more important things like a place to live and grow. 

 

Alfred had nearly broken himself working to get Madeline the life she deserved. He'd burnt every bridge with his father for years after the man had practically disowned him for keeping the girl. He'd nearly lost his brother until Kyle had fought his way tooth and nail back into his life to point out to Alfred that he didn't have to do this alone. He had pinched nerves and herniated discs that Alfred would suffer with for the rest of his life because of construction he hadn't properly exercised for, narrowed eyesight because of late nights when Alfred took a second job, and the late nights where he was too exhausted to sleep. 

 

But he'd done it. He'd carved out their own little place in the world where it was just the two of them. Alfred had neglected everything else in life for the tiny blonde girl who looked almost nothing like him, and Alfred held it to a point to make sure that every single person knew that she was the most important thing. Madeline came first, Madeline  _ always  _ came first.

 

If there was a point where Madeline thought different, Alfred didn't catch on. When Madeline had been old enough to see the difference between her dad and the happy coupled parents her preschool friends had she'd never commented. Her dad had her, she had her dad. Life didn't exist beyond her preschool walls and the 'borrowed’ shirts of her dad's that she wore to bed at night. Then Amelia showed up and somehow blended so effortlessly into their two person life that Madeline was sure they were twins. Alfred thought it would be the two of the together against the world until Madeline was old enough to pave her own way. Maybe three of them together, if the friendship with Amelia lasted. 

 

Alfred had never considered himself lonely. 

 

Nothing Alfred had ever done had prepared him for Matthew. His daughter pushing the boy at him with vigor after years of failed attempts, and here he was, lying in bed next to Alfred like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was earth shatteringly different then when it was him and his two girls. He was never lonely around them, no, but it couldn't compare to Matthew. 

 

No one had compared to Matthew. Half a decade worth of failed dates courtesy of his daughter and not one had matched him. No one had matched the level of connection as much as the poor college writer had. Matthew had taken him completely by surprise as well in every sense of the word: his sexuality, Alfred's sexuality, Matthew's way of being a comfortingly figure even though he was younger and childless. The fact that Matthew undeniably had more experience than him but didn't push Alfred and that Matthew didn't look at Alfred the way so many others had.

 

He didn't make Alfred feel like he was supposed to be looking for a co parent for Madeline. He treated Alfred as himself, and the older man couldn't hide the smile on his face.

 

He knew the exact words for that level of connection, the words to describe the feeling he got around Matthew.

 

The holder of said feelings shifted from his spot curled up on Alfred's chest. He tilted his head so it rested against Alfred’s collarbone like he was trying to nest into Alfred. “Hi.”

 

A few words flew to the front of Alfred’s mind but he pushed them back, like he was trying to keep them pinned down. . 

 

“Hi yourself.” He replied. 

 

Matthew reached up to run a thumb over Alfred's cheek. “Sharing is caring, Mr.Jones.”

 

"I-" He started.

 

Alfred kissed him instead. He had to; he couldn't be responsible for whatever words fell out of his mouth when Matthew looked up at him with ruffled hair and a hickey the size of Texas on his chest. So he took the chance instead and pulled Matthew tight. Matthew's head was tucked under his chin and he spent a few moments petting his hair, brushing his lips against Matthew's hairline.

 

"Matthew, I love you." 

 

Matthew was asleep and Alfred sighed.

 

 


	13. The End

Matthew woke up first. He was in that magical place somewhere between asleep and awake; where the dreaminess and warmth of sleep still had him in their clutches, but he was aware of his surroundings. It was like a lace curtain of sleep still hung around his mind, dense and heavy. 

 

He was becoming aware of how heavy Alfred’s head was with every breath Matthew took, how soft the older man's hair was against his chest. They’d somehow rolled in their sleep, Matthew now on his back in the warm room. Alfred’s had one of his legs thrown over Matthew’s hips, taking up the entirety of the bed in a twist of tan sheets. He tried not to stir or shift in a way that'd disturb Alfred; not that Alfred was a light sleeper. 

 

Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, making the the whole room luminescent and highlighting the vast curves of Alfred’s body- from his muscles to the little pink marks up around his neck. He looked so soft, years younger and peaceful; like he’d been revived from a much older age. Gone were his always present under eye bags and the often strained lines on his forehead; Matthew couldn’t stop himself from reaching a hand out and brushing his bangs away.

 

“Good morning.”

 

Matthew’s voice was painfully scratchy. 

 

Alfred shuffled and he moved his head slowly, eyes drowsy as he blinked towards Matthew. He nestled up against him and when he smiled, Matthew felt the same skip in his heart he had before. The same skip he'd always felt.

 

“Mornin’ sweetheart.” Alfred replied, his voice hoarse. “‘M’ a little disappointed you woke up before me, I was gonna get you up with a surprise.”

 

“Oh?” Matthew hummed as Alfred crawled up next to him, settling his head on Matthew’s pillow. “Like what?” 

 

Hands looped together as they pulled into a chaste kiss. 

 

“I’ll let you guess that one.” Alfred replied, and Matthew could feel one of his hands brush against his ribs. 

 

Matthew rolled over and kissed all of Alfred he could reach. 

 

(He could reach quite a bit.)

* * *

 

 

Music played softly around the kitchen, and Alfred twirled along to the beat of it. Matthew laughed and occasionally gave himself up to the older man, letting himself get swept away from the stove with his spatula in hand. Fuzzy sunlight bleed in from all around and Alfred practically glowed in it. He was donned in nothing more than his sweatpants hanging low around bruised hips and his earth shatteringly bright smile; on him it was a full outfit. 

 

Matthew wasn't much better off clothing wise. He only narrowly avoided splattering pancake batter onto Alfred's misbuttoned flannel, covering his spare pair of briefs. It hung to his hips and slopped off his pale shoulders, revealing one completely and barely managing to stay up on the other one. It fanned out behind him when Alfred swung them around exuberantly, Matthew completely lost in how utterly happy Alfred looked. 

 

Completely lost in how happy  _ he  _ felt, like it was a brand new emotion to him that'd never showed up. But really it was more of an emotion that Matthew had shoved down-- now able to fully let out in the safety of the warm kitchen.

 

“Alfie,” Matthew tested out the new nickname and was met with a cheek kiss, “The pancakes are gonna burn.” 

 

“Mmm, thats a shame,” Alfred responded, grinning wickedly as he held Matthew tighter. “Someone should stop that from happening.”

 

Matthew flushed when Alfred's hands found his hips, and Matthew was powerless to stop the inane giggle he let out. “Al,  _ please.  _ Don't make me take drastic measures.”

 

Alfred cocked an eyebrow. “I'm dying to find out more about these drastic measures, babe.”

 

Matthew pinched the soft skin above Alfred's hips, where there was a little more excess padding than the rest of him. Alfred gasped in horror and pulled his hands away, freeing Matthew.

 

“First of all, how dare you-”

 

“My pancakes are not going to burn, Alfred.”

 

The older man snorted loudly then immediately switched to pouting when Matthew didn't look back.

 

“I was just sucker punched in my own home-”

 

“I pinched you, Al.”

 

“Horrifically attacked-”

 

“I wonder how a hot spatula to the outer thigh would feel,” Matthew pondered, “Should we find out?”

 

Alfred wrapped up around him and buried his face in Matthew's neck like it belonged there. “You can hit me with your hot spatula anytime, Mattie baby.”

 

Matthew choked on air and felt Alfred snort loudly against his collar. He went back to his pancakes without a protest, but Alfred didn't pull away.

 

“Wanna know something funny?” 

 

Struggling to navigate pouring more batter with the extra pair of limbs clutching his torso, Matthew leaned back into the question.

 

“What?”

 

There was a hushed pause and a soft breath across his neck as Alfred placed a kiss there. He lingered, and Matthew could feel his warm breath ghosting over him when Alfred finally responded.

 

“You're loud. Really loud. Much louder than I expected,” Alfred said with a cheek nuzzle to Matthew's jawline, “I thought you'd be a quiet… partner.”

 

Matthew honed in on the hesitation in Alfred's word choice like a Vulture. The man was kissing his neck with little presses of lips that lingered for seconds, he was holding Matthew to him like a teddy bear, he even traced his fingers over Matthew's when there was a break in cooking; yet Matthew couldn't help the cold flush of worry. He was in a warm kitchen with his favorite food, his favorite music, and dressed in his boyfriend's clothing _ - _

 

“Is that a bad thing?” His voice cracked and his shoulders tightened. Maybe Alfred didn't like loud. Maybe that was the first of many flaws Alfred would find.

 

“What?” Alfred sounded genuinely surprised, hands falling to Matthew's hips. “No, Mattie, you're wonderful. Beautiful. I love hearing you happy and loud.”

 

Wonderful. Beautiful. Happy? Alfred apparently loved hearing him.

 

Yes, yes Matthew was happy. This moment seemed perfect; his older lover cradling him in their sun soaked kitchen. The moment had practically walked right out of one of his novels, but that didn't erase the nagging worry in Matthew's gut. 

 

_ I love Alfred. _

 

_ I'm in love with Alfred.  _

 

Alfred was saying something Matthew didn't quite hear. His friends had encouraged him to sleep with Alfred, clearly thinking he needed it. His mother approved of it, even if Alfred missed out on the subtle clue that she knew what was happening; Amelia's mouth ran a thousand miles an hour, of course she'd have slipped up at some point. 

 

Did Alfred feel the same? Sure Madeline had said that he did, but Matthew didn't always put the utmost faith in eleven year old girl’s information. Did he feel the same? Did he get the same rush everytime Matthew looked at him? Did he feel safe around Matthew, or like he'd finally found a little niche he fit into?

 

Did Alfred love him?

 

The pancake was a bit burnt when Matthew flipped it. He stared down at it. 

 

The pancake held no answers.

 

“-And it's hot as fuck, and I won't lie when I say that when my back is better, I'm definitely gonna-”

 

“Alfred.”

 

“Mattie?”

 

His knuckles were white from his grip on his potholder. His breath was shallow and for a few brief moments he considered pressing his hand against the hot skillet rather than look Alfred in the eyes. (He did anyways, burn free.)

 

“I love you.” 

 

It was a whisper that took Alfred's breath away. Matthew saw the blue eyes shift in hue like Alfred was playing through his emotions rapidly, and Matthew took advantage of the momentarily stunned silence. Spurred on by nerve and the voice in the back of his head that sounded like Eliza.

 

“I love you, Alfred, I think I'm- I know I'm completely in love with you.” The potholder was shaking in his hand. “You, Alfred, I love you. The way you act, how you look, your determination and solidness and bravery and everything else, and I love you.” 

 

It’d come out rushed and Matthew winced. He had planned to say more but lapsed into silence the longer he looked at Alfred. Maybe on paper he was a wordsmith, when he didn't see emotions and feelings up close.

 

Alfred didn't respond and Matthew wanted to vomit and fall and oh god Alfred was taking so long to say something, anything, Matthew was going to drop dead-

 

“Really?”

 

Matthew nodded. Oh God. Oh,  _ God.  _

 

Alfred wet his lips and opened his mouth multiple times before actual sound came out. 

 

“Me too.” He scrunched his face. “No I mean you too. No, I, shit- I love you too, Matthew. Love you.”

 

The potholder dropped. “You do?”

 

“Yes, yes, absolutely-”

 

“You really do?”

 

“More than almost anything-”

 

Matthew kissed him and Alfred crushed them together. There was no break of lips in the warm morning sun or playful pinching.

 

“I love you,” Matthew breathed, “Alfred Jones.”

 

“I love you more.” Alfred replied. His voice was so soft Matthew might have missed it, had he not seen Alfred say it.

 

Nothing else was important in that moment beyond trying to hold as much of the other as possible, arms around necks and Alfred backing up against a counter. One of their faces (both?) were wet with relief and Matthew thought his skin would bruise from Alfred pulling him closer. Or maybe old bruises would resurface but in that moment Matthew didn't give a  _ single shit.  _

 

Because he was kissing Alfred Jones, and he'd get to kiss him forever. 

 

(Alfred thought the same.)

 

Neither parted until the smoke alarm went off.

 

* * *

 

 

7 Years Later

 

Madeline watched Amelia shift in her sleep before deciding to move out to the hallway. She didn't dare disturb the sleeping girl out on the couch- Amelia could end her with one swipe of her perfectly manicured nails. 

 

_ “-Ello?”  _

 

Shit, what time was it in London? “Hi Daddy. Did I wake you up?” 

 

_ “Oh, uh- Don't worry about it, sunshine. What's up?”  _

 

Madeline wiggled in excitement. Although he was across the pond, her dad still had to be the first to know. Even though he was literally thousands of miles away, she'd gotten the email less than an hour ago- he  _ had  _ to be the first to know. 

 

“I got into Yale.”

 

“ _ No way. No way, you're shitting me.” _

 

“...And the Oxford University international program.”

 

There was a brief moment of silence on the line, and Madeline wondered if the call had dropped. “Dad?”

 

_ “Hang on babygirl! Matthew- Matthew wake up this is important. Yes it's serious, wake up, my daughter's a genius!” _

 

_ “ _ Dad! Don't wake papa up-”

 

_ “Too late.” _

 

_ *Congratulations, Maddie! I'm so proud of you, sweetie.”  _  A very tired sounding Matthew grumbled.  _ “Did you tell Amy yet?” _

 

Madeline made a noise of disagreement. “No, no, she's still sleeping. New York fashion week took a toll on her. She showed up half dressed in an Uber completely wasted, ate all my yogurt and then passed out on the couch.”

 

_ “That sounds like her. At least she's there and not passed out in an airport. Again.”  _ Matthew said with a sigh.  

 

She could almost hear her dad's snickering in the background. “How's London so far?”

 

“ _ British. Your dad is at a loss, says it reminds him of his dad. But I don't know how I'd get through it without him, he's been the perfect manager. I've got back to back book signings all week.”  _ Sounds of shuffling happened in the background that raised Amelia's eyebrows. “ _... I love you more, Alfie. No, no wait don't tickle me nO-” _

 

Madeline smiled, alone in the kitchen. She glanced at the framed portrait on the wall next to her science fair winnings; Alfred, Matthew, Amelia and herself all smiling happily. She and Amelia had been decked out in gold accessories to match Alfred and Matthew’s wedding bands, the flash shining on Amelia's star earrings. 

 

“I love you guys too, sorry for waking you up so early.” Madeline said, blanking out on whatever Matthew was saying. 

 

_ “I LOVE YOU HUNBUG, I'M SO PROUD!”  _ She heard Alfred shout in the background, then nearly deafened by Matthew's loud snort. 

 

_ “We'll be back in about a week, okay? We've got so many things to share with you. Alfred says he's going to shove a cake in your face.”  _

 

“Thanks Papa. Talk to you later, go get some sleep.” A beep as the line ended, and Madeline didn't dwell on the thought that sleep may not be happening for them. 

 

Instead she found herself back in the living room and quickly nestleing herself against Amelia on the couch. 

 

Amelia was hardly awake, but enough to roll over and fold a blanket over Madeline as well. “Hey there.”

 

Smeared pink glitter eyeshadow mixed with crummy black eyeliner and caked foundation. Hair sticky with hairspray that fell in gross strands after Amy had half hazardous pulled it out of her pony. 

 

“Hey yourself.” Madeline smiled. “Did you overhear?”

 

“I told’ja that you'd get in, didn't I?” Amelia responded, pressing her face into Madeline's neck. “Those schools are so damn lucky.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Amelia huffed and yawned against Madeline's shoulder. For a moment Madeline thought she'd maybe fallen back asleep-

 

“I… could definitely afford an apartment in New Haven.” 

 

Madeline closed her eyes and synced her breathing with Amelia's. “Promise?”

 

“Pr’mise, Maddie.”

 

Soft silence as Amelia fell back asleep and Madeline's eyes drifted to a framed picture above then. A trio of papers tucked behind shiny glass; A worn cover of  _ The Process of Dandelions  _ (from her dad's original copy), the new edition’s updated dedication, and the page where the boy's had first kissed. The page where Alfred's handwriting had been pressed into the paper right across the words in big, bold letters. 

 

_ “Matthew, will you marry me?”  _

* * *

 

Matthew pinned Alfred down with all fours, dangling kisses all across his chin. The older man faux struggled but did nothing to stop the onslaught of kisses against him. 

 

“Waking me up at four am-”

 

“I told you it was  _ important!” _

 

“Three book signings tomorrow-”

 

“Madeline got into the schools! All the schools!”

 

“Not even Elizaveta and Gilbert can wake me up this early.” Matthew teased, settling down against Alfred's chest. 

 

Alfred hummed, then flipped them over so he was above Matthew. His goatee scratched against Matthew's neck. “Yeah, well, they gotta kid to focus on, they shouldn't be waking you up anyways. Only I can. For official manager purpose. Official author book writing business...Stuff. Important stuff only.” 

 

“Stuff?” Matthew asked with a smirk. “What kind of stuff?”

 

Alfred kissed him. “Husband stuff.”

 

“I love you.” One of them muttered sleepily, after a few minutes of contentiously drowsy kissing. 

 

“I love you more.” 

 

“You wearing your sleeping brace?”

 

_ “You wearing your sleeping brace?”  _ Alfred mocked. 

 

“Do not make me get out of bed, Mr.Jones-”

 

“Excuse you, that's Mr.Jones- _ Williams  _ to you.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!!!! And it only took me more than a year :)
> 
> If you've kept reading this story through it's time stakingly slow updates, thank you so much! I appreciate every single comment I've ever gotten, and I'm so glad that my writing made people happy. 
> 
> It got pretty difficult to finish this story so I'm sorry for the abrupt end- it's not because I don't love this story or enjoy writing it anymore. This story has been an underlying currant in my life for over a year now and it's definitely something I won't ever forget. 
> 
> I was planning on having this story done months ago but my mom passed away not too long after Christmas, and it's not been easy to deal with. But it wasn't fair in my mind to just abandon this story and not give it at least some closure. While I'm done with this particular story, I definitely plan to keep writing in the future. Thank you so much for reading <3
> 
> You can find me on my Tumblr @icelandicwash.


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